Beautiful
by A Beautiful Oblivion
Summary: Love is a beautiful thing. It doesn't matter if it's a man and a woman, a woman and a woman, or a man and a man. But how much can that love take before it's shattered? Betrayal? Murder? What about a broken mind? AU, ShaunDes.
1. Confession

**I don't even know what this is... Some ShaunxDesmond crack thing. This was inspired greatly by _I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry_ and_ I Love You, Phillip Morris_. They really look at gay relationships, and it _is_ a beautiful thing. I think it's absolutely disgusting that people could ever protest and discriminate gay and lesbians just because they're different.**

**If you read Paradise Lost, you'll know that I start with a quote from anyone. This doesn't really matter that much, but for this story I'm just putting a few lyrics from a song at the beginning of the chapter.**

* * *

><p><em>You ever love somebody so much you could barely breathe when you're with them?<br>You meet, and neither one of you even know what hit them  
>Got that warm fuzzy feeling, yeah, them chills, used to get them<br>Now you're getting fucking sick of looking at them_

_You swore you'd never hit them, never do anything to hurt them_  
><em>Now you're in each others face, spewing venom in your words when you spit them<em>  
><em>You push, pull each others hair, scratch, claw, bit them<em>  
><em>Throw them down, pin them, so lost in the moments when you're in them<br>_-**Eminem**'s Love the Way You Lie

* * *

><p><em>"I will love you always... Don't listen to what those idiots say, this is who we are, and it's a beautiful thing. The most beautiful thing I could ever imagine."<em>

* * *

><p>Desmond sighed yet again and looked at his watch—again. They'd already been it that damn store for an hour, and she was nowhere close to picking anything out.<p>

"How about this one?" The skinny woman stepped out of the dressing room she'd been in, blue eyes twinkling. She was wearing an attractive black strapless dress that came up to just above her knees, skin tight. There was a white silk ribbon around the waist, tied into a bow on her right side.

Desmond looked her up and down, then raised an eyebrow. "Turn around." She obeyed, and he nodded slowly. Lucy's ass _did _look great in the dress, and it wasn't too low to be slutty, but low enough that some cleavage did show. He'd have something to stare at while they were at her parents.

"I like it," he concluded.

Lucy huffed. "I don't."

Desmond groaned. "We've been shopping for two hours, and an hour just in this store!"

"But I want my parents to see that I know what I'm doing. Does this look like that to you?" She spun around again, looking uncertain.

"Yes," Desmond said immediately. Anything to get them out of that store. "Your parents would love it."

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "How would you know? You've met them once, and I could tell you weren't paying attention to _anything _they said."

The brunet scoffed. "You wouldn't be able to know that just by looking at me."

"They asked you what you liked best about me. You said, 'Ah, what an interesting story, Mr and Mrs Stillman. Have you always loved yachts?'" She smiled slightly. "Just because they're rich doesn't necessarily mean they own a yacht."

"But they _do _own a yacht.". A big one, too. Lucy's father had let Desmond look at it through the window of their living room. Of their oceanside mansion.

"And besides," he said in his defence, "_you _weren't listening either."

"Yes, but they're _my _parents," Lucy explained, not really sounding excited about the conversation, looking in the mirror again. "You know, I think I will get this one."

"How much is it?" Desmond asked, wondering why she never bothered to look at the price tag.

"Right." The blonde pulled the tag from inside the dress and tilted her head to the side to read it. "Five-fifty. Not bad for Juicy Couture."

He rolled his eyes while she was focused on the tag. Rich people never could figure out the value of a dollar. Desmond worked as a bartender and made thirty-five thousand dollars a year, the same amount of money Lucy spent in six months on her apartment, which they now shared. It had one bedroom, a kitchen, a living room, and two bathrooms, but Lucy loved it because it was modern, and right in the middle of downtown New York.

"Just get changed and buy it and let's go."

* * *

><p>Neither of them had a car. It was just a waste of money in this city, where walking or taking the subway was faster than driving anyway. When they'd first started dating, Lucy had blanched at the idea of sitting in a subway that was cleaned <em>maybe<em>twice a year. She refused to walk as well, saying it was too hot in the summer - she'd sweat - and too cold in the winter. She took cabs everywhere, spending hundreds of dollars a week sitting in traffic.

"Ugh, it's hot," she complained as they got off the subway at 68th Street.

"It's only April darling, it's going to get hotter," Desmond answered automatically, distracted. The sound of a large crowd came from ahead of them. He sped up, somewhat weighed down by Lucy's shopping bags.

"Hey, wait!" Lucy hurried to catch up. "What's the rush?"

"Oh." Desmond stopped at the corner of Lexington and East 66th. There was a large mob gathered outside of a building, a lot of them carrying signs and posters. Most of them were men, and all of them had angry expressions on their faces. There were so many protestors that they spilled off the sidewalk onto the street, blocking traffic.

"Can you read any of those signs?" Desmond asked, leaning toward Lucy. "Let's get closer."

"We have to leave in three hours, and I still have to do my hair-"

Desmond ignored her and walked down East 66th Street on the right side of the street, so he could see both the group and the entrance of the building they were standing in front of.

"God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and STEVE."

"AIDS isn't a disease, it's a cure—a cure for homosexuality."

"Children need a mom and a dad, not a dad and a dad, not a mom and a mom."

"Homosexuals are possessed by the devil."

"No queer, no fear."

The crowd was massed outside of the Club Dominicana, a popular spot for gay parties. Even during the day, it was busy, and there was a small gathering of people outside the entrance, facing the mob. Both parties were screaming at each other.

"Queers don't belong in America!" Desmond heard a voice yell.

"Fuck you!" A man on the gay side shouted. He had stepped protectively in front of another, smaller man. "We have as much right to be here as you do!"

Couples were holding each other, faces twisted in rage or sadness, screaming their rights at the protestors. One couple was standing off to the side, a man holding another who was sobbing into his partner's shoulder. The taller man was looking at the scene with a mixture of sadness and disgust as his boyfriend fell apart at the seams.

Desmond stared, not knowing how people could hate each other so much. What did it matter if men liked other men, or women liked other women?

"Fucking queers." Lucy was beside him now. "Come on Desmond, let's go."

She dragged him away from the club, talking about whatever the fuck girls talk about, but her boyfriend's mind was a million miles away.

* * *

><p>"Lucy, dear, could you pass the pepper?" Lucy's father held out a hand and smiled warmly at his daughter as she handed him the shaker. Desmond sat awkwardly next to her, not touching the food laid out on the shining plate in front of him.<p>

Lucy had one brother, but he had been too busy working on Wall Street to come to dinner, so it was just the Stillmans and Desmond.

"So, Desmond," Mr Stillman said around his smoked duck. "You're a bartender."

"Yes, sir," Desmond muttered back, not wanting to be dragged into the conversation.

"And what's that like?" Mrs Stillman wondered, reaching for more braised cabbage.

Desmond couldn't believe the question he'd just been ask. He was a bartender. He tended bars.

"Well..." he began. "I get to meet a lot of new and interesting people. I've made so many friends from this job. It doesn't pay much, but I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"_Anything_?" Lucy's father asked, a glint in his eye. "You know, if you're looking to make some more money, I could pull a few strings-"

"Oh, no thank you," Desmond said, a little too bitterly. "I'm fine where I am."

The rest of the meal continued in silence. Desmond picked idly at the food in front of him until Lucy was finished.

"You've barely touched your food, darling," she chirped, sounding far too cheerful.

"I'm aware of that," Desmond muttered when her parents weren't looking. "I'm just not hungry."

"A man needs to eat to be healthy," Mr Stillman broke in suddenly. "Why, I remember a friend of mine who didn't eat a thing; he was far too busy, you see.."

And he droned on and on about some friend of his who almost withered away to nothingness until he finally realised what was going on and - you guessed it - started making time to eat.

Desmond wished _he _could wither away to nothingness.

"Fascinating story, Richard," Mrs Stillman said when it was finished. "I hadn't heard that one before."

"Lucy, can I talk to you for a second?" Desmond asked sideways, slightly distracted by a boar's head on the wall staring at him.

"Of course." They stepped into the hallway. Desmond closed the mahogany double doors behind them.

"_God_, do they have to rub their money in my faces?" He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

"Oh come on, you could have that if you'd just accept the job my father offered." Lucy was looking at him like it was his fault her father was a rich douche.

"It's not about him _having _money, it's about him acting like he's better than me just because he has it." Desmond shook his head. "You never got that."

"Well I'm sorry if I'm not smart enough for you."

"I never-" Desmond stopped. "You know what, you're right. "You _aren't_smart enough for me."

"Well, excuse me I-went-to-university-and-got-a-PhD," Lucy spat. "Oh, wait, you didn't! You have a _bartender's licence_." She glared at him.

"You know what, this isn't working." Desmond threw his hands up in defeat.

The angry look instantly vanished from Lucy's face and she looked at him with her big blue eyes. "What isn't working?" she whispered.

"Oh, don't pull that crap. You know _exactly _what I'm talking about. You think you can look at me like that and I'll just melt. Not anymore."

"No, no, no," Lucy moaned, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

Desmond looked down at her, unimpressed.

"But Desmond... I love you," she pleaded.

"You think I give a fuck? It's not always about _you_, believe it or not," he hissed.

"And what brought on this great revelation?" Lucy shouted, suddenly angry again—she was famous for her mood swings. "If I've 'always been like this', why have you now just suddenly come to your senses?" Her words were dripping with sarcasm.

"Because, your fucking parents are idiots."

"No, that's not it, I can tell." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"All right." Desmond took a deep breath. When he had seen those protestors earlier, it broke his heart to think about the innocent gays and lesbians who were being hated and excluded just because of who they are. He wanted to try something, to see what it was like. "I'm gay."

* * *

><p><strong>HAHAHAHAHAHA- that was bad. No seriously. The first chapter of my fics usually always suck, so don't get turned off too soon, kay?<strong>

**God, I hate how I wrote Lucy. She's supposed to be out of character, yeah, but it's like a created a whole new person and called them Lucy.**

**There was a whole lot more I wanted to write about this, but I can't remember. So yeah. Review please :D**


	2. Encounter

**Novoux: Yes, she was, but it was on purpose :) Thanks for reading and reviewing, and I hope you like this chapter as well!  
><span>Sadistic-Kit<span>: Haha, me too ;) Thank you so much for the review!  
><strong>**Ginger Katt****: I don't mind if you bug me 8D Lolol you lie, that chapter sucked. This one's better, though, at least I think it is.**

**Enormous thank yous to:  
><strong>**-****Novoux****, for adding this story to their alert****  
>-<span>Death Escapist<span>**, for adding this story to their alert and their favourites  
>-<span>Blooooodless<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Stylet-Rouge<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Zorrokiller<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>equestrian247<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Sadistic-Kit<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>xLitvia<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Gabriel Tunichtgut<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>Ginger Katt<span>, for adding this story to their alert, and adding myself to their alert and favourite authors  
>So many of you! Thanks to each and every one of you. I less than three you all!<strong>**

**So yes, as you can tell by the title, this is the chapter where Desmond finally meets Shaun! Who's excited?**

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><p><em>Somehow I found a way to get lost in you<em>  
><em>Let me inside, let me get close to you<em>  
><em>Change your mind<br>__I'll get lost if you want me to  
><em>_Somehow I found a way to get lost in you  
><em>-**Three Days Grace**'s Lost in You

* * *

><p>"<em>Gay<em>?" Lucy's father rumbled. Desmond, standing on the other side of the dining room doors, cringed, hoping he wouldn't get shot.

When he'd told Lucy, she had stared for a couple seconds, shocked, then stormed back into the dining room and slammed the doors in his face. Now those doors were swung open, and there was Mr Stillman, his face beet red. Lucy peeked out from behind his shoulder, a smug look on her face.

"Get your queer ass out of my house," he growled. "And don't you _dare_come near my daughter again!"

Desmond shrugged, feeling cocky. "Fine by me. I was the one keeping her from working in a strip club - she seemed really determined to get in - so the whole 'not going near her again' thing should work just fine."

Mr Stillman turned slowly to his daughter, whose smile had fallen off her face faster than you could say "whore".

Desmond slipped down the hall and around the corner, leaving out the front door, but not before taking a little parting gift from Lucy's purse. If he was going, he was going out with a bang.

* * *

><p>Lucy's parents' house was a five or ten minute walk from where anyone could get a cab just by standing by the side of the road. Desmond didn't mind walking because he knew he'd never be walking anywhere again after that day.<p>

He could've called a cab from the house, but he didn't want to risk standing outside in range of Lucy's father's hunting rifle.

"Taxi!" Desmond called when he reached Belmont. Upon getting in, he directed the driver to take him to the nearest motorcycle dealer. He'd owned one before he moved to New York, and had to sell it. Now, since he wasn't paying for it, he figured he'd might as well get another one.

The Arab typed motorcycle into his GPS. "Harley-Davidson, Motorcycle Equities, or Speed Motorcycles?"

"Speed Motorcycles is perfect," Desmond replied, fingering Lucy's American Express card.

* * *

><p>The taxi pulled up to a small building with garages set into the front. Desmond gave the driver a twenty, feeling generous, then got out of the cab.<p>

There were two garages, one painted blue and one painted gray. To the left of the blue garage, there was a blue door, but it was set a foot off the ground. To the right of the garage there was another blue door, but it had a garage-like entrance—it would have to be slid up to be opened.

There was a sign over the gray garage that said Speed Motorcycles. Desmond guessed that they owned that half of the building, since there was a different sign on the blue side. Not knowing what else to do, he stepped forward awkwardly and knocked on the gray garage.

After a couple minutes it opened. A man stood there, wearing a sweater vest and dress shirt. He has light brown hear, styled upwards, glasses, and a five o'clock shadow, and was looking at Desmond with a not-so-impressed look.

"Welcome to Speed Motorcycles," he droned with a British accent. "My name is Shaun," he pulled at the name tag affixed to his shirt, "and I'll be assisting you this fine day." In a more normal, albeit sarcastic, tone, he continued, "We were just about to close though-"

Desmond held up the platinum card. "I'll pay to keep you overtime."

Shaun raised his eyebrows. "Come in, then," he said, gesturing.

As Desmond stepped inside and looked around, Shaun closed the door and asked, "So, what were you looking for?"

"Something fast," the American replied, looking around eagerly. The floor of the store was covered in motorcycles of every colour and shape. Most of them were lithe and small.

"We're not called 'Speed Motorcycles' for a reason." Shaun came up to stand beside him. "You're going to have to be more specific than that."

"The fastest thing you've got. Money's no object," Desmond reminded the other man, nonchalantly holding up the credit card higher.

"Sure thing..." Shaun tilted his head to read the card. "Lucy."

"Oh, that's not my name," Desmond laughed nervously. "I sort of... stole this card from my ex-girlfriend," he said quickly, hoping the other man wouldn't call the police.

Instead, a small smile appeared on his face. "Nice. So, what's your name then?"

Desmond grinned back. "I'm Desmond."

* * *

><p>He and Shaun got to talking, and Desmond found out that the Brit wasn't really all that bad; he could just be a bit sarcastic at times.<p>

"So why do you wear that here?" Desmond asked, gesturing to Shaun's outfit. "Shouldn't you be wearing, like, leather?" They were sitting at a desk set up in the far corner of the room, Shaun across from Desmond.

"I never wanted to do this," Shaun replied. "This job. So I wear this to remind myself I should get off my ass and do what I want to do."

"Well, what do you want to be?"

"A historian." Shaun sighed. "But no one seems to need one nowadays. So I'm stuck working here until someone hires me."

"History?" Desmond was surprised. "You don't really seem like the history kind of guy."

"Oh, today's world is so shitty. But in the fifteen hundreds... There were no unnecessary wars, no conspiracy theories, no cowardice when fighting; it was a better time.

"But anyways." Shaun blinked the glassy look out of his eyes. "Why'd you steal your girlfriend's card?"

"Ex." It still felt strange saying that. "I broke up with her and her dad practically bit my head off. So I'm buying a little something to ease the emotional state I'm in."

"Won't she notice the several thousand dollar charge on her bill..?"

Desmond laughed. "That's how much she spends in one day when she goes shopping! No, she won't miss it, and neither will her parents."

"Why'd you dump her?" Shaun seemed to be curious about Lucy.

"Her dad's an asshole, and so is she. And..." He paused, debating whether to tell a stranger why he actually dumped her. "I told her I was gay."

Shaun perked up at this, then turned light red and looked down. "Are you really, or were you just saying that so she'd get off your back?"

"Yeah, I think so." Desmond described what he'd seen outside the club. "It never really felt right being with women, and I really want to do something about gay rights."

Shaun sat there for a second, then cleared his throat and stood up. "So, how about that bike?"

"Sure." Desmond stood as well, not wanting to push why Shaun didn't want to talk about gays.

"Well, the fastest thing we have is the Suzuki Hayabusa," Shaun began, leading him toward a sleek white bike with red designs. "It can go nearly four hundred kilometres and hour."

"That's... good, right?" Desmond wondered, unfamiliar with metric.

Shaun chuckled. "Oh, you Americans and your imperial system. Yes, it's about two-fifty miles an hour."

Desmond whistled, impressed. "Wow. That's really fast."

"It comes in this colour, or black with red trim, and costs about sixteen and a half thousand dollars." Shaun eyed him, as if hoping he'd back down and pick a cheaper bike.

"Black," Desmond replied confidently, grinning.

* * *

><p>Half an hour and a whole lot of signatures later, Desmond was the proud owner of a black 2010 Suzuki Hayabusa.<p>

Shaun set the helmet Desmond had bought on the counter. "You sure you don't want a jacket? You wouldn't want to ruin your outfit." He nodded to the other man's body.

Desmond looked down at the suit he'd totally forgot he was wearing. "Nah, it's okay. I hate this thing anyway."

"Oh?" Shaun raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I prefer the more casual look, you know, jeans, t-shirt, sweater. Lucy insisted I wear this."

"That'll be $16,765." Shaun held out his hand and accepted the American Express card Desmond handed him.

"You know this is _so _illegal, right?" Shaun asked, but swiped the card anyway.

Desmond grinned. "She deserves it and you know it."

Shaun smiled crookedly back, then handed Desmond the receipt, a stack of papers, and a set of keys. He stepped out from behind the counter and led Desmond toward his new bike. The American grabbed his helmet and followed.

"Here she is." Shaun gestured to the sleek black-and-red motorcycle.

"Is there a place I can put these?" Desmond asked, holding up the papers. He felt weighed down by them, and there was no way he'd be able to drive with them.

Shaun nodded and popped open a small compartment behind the seat. Desmond put the papers in, then closed it as Shaun opened the garage. The American wheeled the bike outside, noticing with surprise that it was dark. He put the helmet on, then got on his bike, pulling out his wallet.

"I've been here for, like two hours?" Desmond guessed, opening it. "How much do I owe you?"

"No, it's fine," Shaun said, leaning on the doorframe of the garage. "But.." He paused, as if thinking over what he was going to say, then closed the few steps between them. "You _could _give me your number." In the dim light, Desmond could see he was grinning.

Desmond laughed. "Anything that'll get me out of paying." Shaun produced a small piece of paper and a pen - from where, Desmond didn't know - and handed them to the other man.

The American scribbled down his phone number and handed it off. "Call me." He smiled mischievously underneath the visor, then started the bike and glided down the road.

In the rear view mirror, he could see Shaun raise his hand in a small wave before Desmond sped around the corner.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, it was only a matter of time, right?<strong>

**If anyone caught that, I made Desmond pick between white and black because that's the hoodie colours he has in the games :3 As you can see, he chose black, the newer one (in Revelations if you haven't seen it).**

**The Hayabusa is a _beautiful_ bike. Go look it up. It comes in many more colours, but I just wanted the two, because... ^. I also don't think it's quite that easy to buy a motorcycle, but I can live with this.**

**Reviews are appreciated, as always! **


	3. Dear Diary, Episode 1

**RawrIAmCupcakes13: Good thing you won't have to, cause here it is ;D Thanks for the kind review!  
><span>Ginger Katt<span>: Lolol maybe Shaun is gonna beat her up so she won't go near his man o3o  
><span>Novoux<span>: First thing's first, let me say thank you for that review, it's probably one of the longest I've ever got :) I actually _do_ feel the need to thank you, and every single person who reviews my stories, since you're the ones that keep me going. If I had no reviews, there'd be no point to writing it, don't you think? Oh, and you can just call me Oblivion, my whole username's too long to write out :3  
><span>Blooooodless<span>: Oh, you're welcome! You deserve it :) And thank you again for reviewing and your kind words.  
><strong>**KittyWitch-and-Zanny: Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't both used? I know I'm just an ignorant foreigner, but I used Wikipedia -gasp- and Yahoo Answers, and they both said that the UK have adopted imperial, but metric is just as widely used. Yahoo Answers was answered by real people, living in Britain, and they agreed. Perhaps you're just from an area that doesn't use metric.**

**Enormous, deep-fried, artery-clogging thank yous to:  
>-<span>RawrIAmCupcakes13<span>, for adding this story to their alert and their favourites, and adding myself to their favourite authors  
>-<span>xXSMiZXx<span>, for adding this story to their alert and their favourites  
>-<span>.42<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>Blooooodless<span>, for adding this story their favourites, and adding myself to their alert and their favourite authors**

**Look at that, two chapters in one day! You guys are so lucky that I love you/I have nothing better to do/this chapter is so short. Better write this down or take a picture, cause it's not going to happen again :3**

* * *

><p><em>Why can't they understand the way we feel<br>They just don't trust what they can't explain  
>I know we're different but deep inside us<br>We're not that different at all_

_And you'll be in my heart_  
><em>Yes, you'll be in my heart<em>  
><em>From this day on<em>  
><em>Now and forever more<em>

_Don't listen to them_  
><em>'Cause what do they know<em>  
><em>We need each other, to have, to hold<em>  
><em>They'll see in time, I know<em>

-**Phil Collins**' You'll Be In My Heart

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, April 28, 2012 10:30 PM<strong>

_Dear Diary,_

_Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck! Why does that American have to be so damn hot? I've always tried to hide my homosexuality, and I completely contradicted myself by fucking _asking for his number_!_

_But.. I can't stop thinking about him. It's only been an hour since he left, and the only thing in my head is how the scar on his lip stretches when he smiles, how his brown eyes light up when he's happy, how his voice wraps around my brain..._

_God, I'm acting like I've known him for years already._

_Desmond Miles. American, brown hair and eyes, about an inch shorter than me, slightly muscular, scar on the right side of his lip, was wearing a suit. Just realized he was gay, hates his girlfriend - _ex_-girlfriend - and her parents, prefers to wear jeans and a t-shirt over a suit, risk taker. Funny and charming, can be cocky at times, seems nice enough to me._

_I barely know him. But I know his phone number._

_Oh God, I just realized that since I have his number, _I'm_ the one that's supposed to do the calling. Is it the same for gays as it is with girls, and would you wait two or three days? Or is there a whole different set of rules for men?_

_To the Internet._

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, April 29, 2012 11:11 PM<strong>

_Dear Diary,_

_Gay for two hours and I already gave a guy my number. How's that for dude magnet?_

_Oh, Shaun. He's sarcastic and adorable, and oh _God_, that accent. I must have a British-fetish or something. It almost rhymes._

_Aside from that, he has a history degree and is actually really smart, though most of the time he just spouts random facts. They _are_ interesting, but pretty useless. I think he was just doing that because he was nervous._

_It feels really weird, but really awesome at the same time to not be with Lucy. It's about eleven now, I wonder what she's doing... __Ah, who cares? Anyway, I'm staying with Rebecca until I can settle in somewhere. She's gay too, but I haven't told her yet; she'll have a nice surprise in the morning._

_Oh shit, gotta go. Rebecca's yelling at me for leaving my bike - which is a sexy beast, by the way - in front of her car._

_I hope Shaun calls soon._

* * *

><p><strong>I'll be doing this occasionally, writing journal entries from both guys' points of view. Can anyone else see Shaun owning a diary, but not Desmond?<strong>

**Yes, I'm a review whore. It's kind of sad. I should get help.**


	4. Anticipation

**ZombieOnTheMoon****: Thanks! And yeah, me too, if I was him I'd just text someone so I don't have to hear their expression ^^'  
><span>shadowelf144<span>: You're welcome :) Thanks for reviewing.  
><span>RawrIAmCupcakes13<span>: BUTTBUDDIES YES. Thanks :D  
><span>Ginger Katt<span>: "Hello Desmond. Go away." What you don't see is him saying "I'm updating my blog, and you're not allowed to see it." And then Desmond's all "Really?" And Shaun's all "A LOT OF PEOPLE READ IT, GOSH. I DON'T WANT YOU POISONING IT WITH YOUR AMERICAN...ness."  
><strong>**yaminokokorouta****: Thanks :) Yeah, I know a lot of people are stingy and automatically go into I'm-right-you're-wrong-mode about this topic, but I'm trying to make it humorous at the same time x3  
><span>KittyWitch-and-Zanny<span>: Thanks! Lolz, that's why it's funny, cause we all know Desmond would never be caught dead with a diary xD  
><strong>**Blooooodless****: Haha yeah, he probably hides it or something so NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW. Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

**And many thanks to:  
>-<span>ZombieOnTheMoon<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>shadowelf144<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>yaminokokorouta<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>lady-feanor<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>Antigue Doll<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Minuit-Glace<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>PeorthMoon<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-and <span>Kaciel<span>, for adding this story to their alert**

**WARNING: Boring chapter ahead o3o**

* * *

><p><em>I want you<br>How I wanted you  
>And I need you<br>How I needed you_

__Break this bittersweet spell on me  
>Lost in the arms of destiny<br>__-**Apocalyptica**'s Bittersweet

* * *

><p>"Desmond! Get your ass out of bed!"<p>

Desmond opened his eyes slowly, expecting to find himself in his apartment, Lucy screaming at him from across the building. Instead, he awoke on a couch in a small living space, wrapped comfortably in a thin but soft blanket.

He sat up, stretching. Rebecca poked her head into her living room. Her green eyes flashed when she saw he was still sitting.

"Come on then, get up!" She stepped into the room, already fully dressed in her usual jeans and a t-shirt, a hoodie casually thrown on - just like Desmond preferred - her short brown hair styled in a way only Rebecca could style it.

Desmond yawned. "What time is it?"

"Seven-thirty," Rebecca answered briskly, striding over to the window and pulling up the blinds.

"What?" Desmond yelped. "But it's Sunday!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Rebecca said sweetly. "I didn't realize. Now go back to sleep. Of course it's Sunday!" she exclaimed.

"But-" Desmond protested.

"No buts! We're going to move you out of Lucy's apartment." She grinned. "Nice move finally breaking up with her. I'd wondered when you would come to your senses."

"Oh, I'm not staying with you, I can find my own place-"

Rebecca cut him off again. "Yes you are. I'm not letting you sit around by yourself all day."

"About that," Desmond began. "Want to know exactly _why _I broke up with Lucy?"

"Because she's a selfish snob?" the brunette guessed.

"Well, yes," he admitted. "But there's more than that." He told her about what he'd seen outside the club, and his decision.

Rebecca scowled. "Fucking protestors. You know last week Mel-" Mel was Rebecca's girlfriend. They didn't live together yet. "-was almost mugged by some guys in her apartment building because they thought she didn't deserve the money she had?"

"Is she okay?" Desmond asked, wide eyed.

"Oh, yeah, she fought them off. Goddamn pussies couldn't run away fast enough." Rebecca smirked. "But I always knew _you _would end up gay someday."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Desmond rolled his eyes. "You can predict the future. We all know it." He pulled the blanket off himself and stood. He'd slept in his underwear; he hadn't had any pyjamas, and there was no way he was going to wear that suit any longer than he had to. It was draped over the love seat, practically mocking him.

"I want you dressed in five minutes!" Rebecca half-sang over her shoulder as she exited the room. Desmond groaned and reluctantly put the dark gray pants on, dressing himself in only the white dress shirt—there was no way he was wearing that jacket. He gave the red patterned tie a look of disgust, glared at the jacket some more, then joined Rebecca in the kitchen.

Rebecca's apartment was about the same size as Lucy's - one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen - but cost about four thousand dollars less every month, since it wasn't in the central part of town and it wasn't perfect. Rebecca didn't mind, and neither did Desmond.

"Good!" Rebecca exclaimed lightly when he stepped out, then grabbed her keys. "Let's roll."

Desmond looked longingly at his helmet on the counter as he walked toward the front door. "You sure we can't take my bike?"

"Then where would we put all the stuff?" Rebecca knocked lightly on his head. "I swear, you left some of your brain at Lucy's too."

Desmond laughed sarcastically. "Hilarious."

* * *

><p>"You've got your keys?" Rebecca asked as they were en-route to the apartment. She had a navy 2010 Honda Accord—not an overly expensive car, but still an attractive one.<p>

"Of course I do," Desmond scoffed, reaching into his pocket and pulling them out. "See? But we could always just _knock_and ask her..."

"Oh shut up, that's no fun." Rebecca swerved around a car going too slow and beeped her horn. The driver shot her the bird. She rolled her eyes and laughed it off.

There was something else in his pocket. Desmond reached in and pulled out a platinum American Express card.

Rebecca stole a sideways glance at it, then laughed loudly, practically whooping with joy. "You stole her fucking _credit card_? Man, I love you."

Desmond laughed along with her, then bent the card. "I can't keep it though, or she'll eventually figure it out." He thrust both his hands together, snapping it in half, then opened the window and threw the halves out.

"Ah, what a waste. Imagine what we could've done with that..." Rebecca was a bit reckless sometimes and didn't usually think about consequences—she was more of a do-it-and-think-later person. But that was what made her awesome.

"So, anyway." The brunette casually checked her hair in the mirror while continuing to not crash. "What did you move into Lucy's?"

When Lucy had first asked him to move in with her, Desmond had thought that was the end to all his problems. He thought that he and Lucy were going to live together for the rest of their lives, so he'd sold his place and all of his furniture, appliances, even small knick-knacks, and jumped right in to his new life.

"Just some clothes," Desmond muttered, staring out the window. The warm April breeze blew through the window as Rebecca stopped at a red light, and he couldn't help thinking about Shaun. He could feel his phone in his pocket, and all he could hope was that Shaun would call soon.

* * *

><p>Lucy hadn't been home; Desmond and Rebecca simply came in, took his clothes, and left. Desmond had been fighting with his emotions. Half of him was happy with his decisions, happy with his choices, and happy with Shaun. The other half wondered if he was doing the right thing, if he really was gay, or if he actually belonged with Lucy. Desmond shook this last part off; Lucy was just a controlling, selfish bitch.<p>

But he _did _get to wondering if he was doing the right thing with Shaun. It wasn't about Desmond, it was about if the bartender would break Shaun's heart if Desmond realized later on that he wasn't really gay.

* * *

><p>Rebecca helped him drag one of the nightstands beside her bed - she had two - into the living room, so he had somewhere to put his clothes.<p>

"Thanks so much," Desmond said sincerely as they finished moving the table.

"Nah, it's okay." Rebecca straightened up as they moved it into position. "This couch was just sitting here, going to waste."

As soon as he could, Desmond changed into jeans and a hoodie, the moved all his clothes into the drawers, folding and stowing things that should've been hung—it's not like he cared anyway.

"You sure you don't need me to do anything?" Desmond asked Rebecca, who was sitting on the loveseat texting Mel.

"Nope," she answered without looking up.

"Okay, well, I'm going out."

"Have fun." She still didn't look up.

Desmond grabbed his keys and stuck his phone in his pocket, then hurried out the door.

* * *

><p>Desmond laughed loudly as he wove through traffic. How could he have <em>ever <em>walked anywhere before?

His bike was amazing and beautiful. It almost made him feel like he was flying, gliding over the pavement, going fifty in a thirty zone. He got several honks and fingers, and a police officer even glared at him threateningly, but it was _so _worth it.

Reluctantly, he slowed to a stop. He was in front of a familiar gray garage. Desmond turned off the bike and dismounted, removing his helmet. He'd decided it took Shaun too long to call, so he was going to come to him.

But to his dismay, there was a small hand-written sign on the gray door that said closed. Sighing, Desmond replaced his helmet on his head and got back on his bike, turning it on. The only real thing he knew about Shaun was where he worked, and the only real thing he knew about where Shaun worked was that it was closed on Sundays.

Desmond sighed again, but cheered up when he felt the humming of the motorcycle under him. He rocketed off from the curb, wind pulling at his clothes, deciding he'd drive around a bit.

* * *

><p>It was only five, and Desmond was bored out of his mind. He sat on the couch and stared at the Blackberry in his hands, willing it to ring. Rebecca had left around three to go hang out with Mel, leaving Desmond all alone in an empty apartment.<p>

He sighed and unlocked his phone, starting a new game on Brickbreaker. But there was only so many times you could break clay squares with a small black ball before you went completely insane.

* * *

><p><strong>And this was Shaun's day: Internet-<strong>Internet-<strong>**Internet-****Internet-****Internet-****Internet-****Internet-TEA BREAK-**Internet-****Internet-****Internet-****Internet******

**Trolololol I made him look like a loser. PROBLEM?**


	5. Meeting

**shadowelf144: Indeed. Good for him c:  
><span>ZombieOnTheMoon<span>: Yes, quite. Would you like sugar or milk with your tea?  
><span>Ginger Katt<span>: If England tolerates Europe like a person tolerates herpes, then Shaun tolerates Desmond like a person tolerates chocolate cake. COMPLETELY irresistible, but makes you feel guilty :3  
><span>Kaciel<span>: I'm glad I could make you feel fuzzy :D I find that adding reviews/alerts/whatevers makes people want to read the story more so they can see their name on there, but that's just me. Anyway, thanks for the review! I have to say I'm not a fan of AU either, this just came to me and it had to be done o3o**

**Extra thanks to:  
>-<span>chickirara<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>diana22ac<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>Kaciel<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>PancaekPirate<span>, for adding this story to their alert and their favourites  
>-<span>Autumn's Crow<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>rubyxdragon<span>, for adding this story to their alert and their favourites**

**If anyone reads/cares about Paradise Lost, it's on hold for a while because I have _complete_ writer's block with it.**

* * *

><p><em>If I lay here<br>If I just lay here  
>Would you lie with me and just forget the world?<br>_-**Snow Patrol**'s Counting Cars

* * *

><p>Desmond's Monday was <em>completely <em>uneventful. By the time six rolled around, he almost wished he could leave for work.

He was working night shifts on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, and then days on Friday. Weekdays were usually uneventful, other than Mondays and Fridays—Mondays because businessmen wanted to forget what day it was and how much of a shitty day they'd had; Fridays because people tended to want to drink their weekend away.

Shaun still hadn't called. Desmond checked his phone one last time at seven, then sighed and left for work.

Rebecca was driving home from work, so he wouldn't see her until at least the next day. Since she worked days and he worked nights, he might not even see her until Thursday; he would be sleeping when she left at eight in the morning, and she'd be sleeping when he got back at two or three in the morning.

Desmond thudded down the stairs, helmet in hand, feeling annoyed and tired. Rebecca had let him sleep in that morning, but for some reason he hadn't been able to sleep the night before. Most of the night he'd lain there, staring at the silent phone in his hand.

Blinking sunlight out of his eyes, Desmond emerged onto the sidewalk. Rebecca lived in Nolita, just north of Little Italy, on a small street that was made up of mostly old brick buildings. Her apartment building was called Monteriggioni, named after a small city of the same name in Italy, Desmond had learned. The apartment didn't come with parking, so the residents had to park their cars on the street, which was where Desmond's bike sat, facing the sidewalk lengthways, in between two spots so he wouldn't have to feed a meter.

He had almost no idea how to get to where he worked from where he was standing. Dusk was on West 24th Street, and he took the subway every time; he'd only ever driven there in a cab a few times, and he hadn't been paying attention.

Still, he rode in the general direction of his work, and eventually recognised telltale signs that he was getting close.

Desmond pulled up to a small, nondescript bar at the bottom of an eight-story white stone building. Dusk's area was black, making it stand out from the buildings around it. The entire front entrance was glass, the middle third a frosted broken glass pattern, and a chalkboard sign out front announced the specials of the day. He checked his watch. Quarter to eight; he was almost late.

Hastily turning off and parking his bike, Desmond swung off, leaving his helmet on the seat, and entered the Dusk.

The entire lounge was stunning the first time anyone entered. Desmond had seen it hundreds of times, first-comers standing in the still-open door, eyes wide, some with their mouths open. Even Desmond was a little overwhelmed sometimes by the modernity and beauty of his workplace.

It looked extremely small from the outside, but Dusk extended back a hundred or so feet, making it feel somewhat like a hallway. The bar was near the entrance, and further back were the pool tables and the plush benches—it _was _a lounge, after all.

The left wall was exposed brick, the right a broken glass mosaic pattern. The bar's counter was dark, sleek wood, the only light at the bar coming from small bulbs set behind the liquor, giving the impression that the bottles were glowing. There was a layered black and white zebra pattern under the counter, leading down to a dark floor that looked to be just one large tile. Further down the room, toward the right wall, there was a large pillar made of the same glass mosaic as the wall.

The bar was already pretty busy; it was nearly eight, and it was usually the busiest from nine or ten to midnight. Since Dusk was just a bar and didn't serve food, the bartender was the only was working most of the time. How Dusk operated was someone worked "days" and someone worked nights. Days, according to Dusk, was whenever the bar opened to eight. The only time it actually balanced out was on Sunday, where both bartenders worked four hours. The other days of the week's opening times were balanced heavily in the day worker; five-thirty Mondays to Thursday, five Fridays, and seven-thirty Saturdays. However, the day men had to deal with happy hour customers; it was over at nine, and most popular before seven.

This was Desmond's fifth year working at Dusk; he'd seen bartenders come and go, but a lot had stayed, and most he counted as friends. One of them was Lucas, currently standing behind the counter. He was younger than Desmond, though not by much, about the same height, more muscular, with light brown hair styled forward.

When Lucas saw Desmond, his face broke into a grin. "Desmond!" he greeted enthusiastically. "Just in time too, some of these guys are getting really annoying." He flashed a grin at the people sitting at the bar. Most laughed; they were regulars and were fine with being made fun of.

Desmond smiled back, and let himself in behind the bar. "Luke." The two clasped hands, then embraced briefly in a one-armed hug.

"Lucky you, working days." Desmond leaned casually against the far counter as Lucas reached under it to grab his jacket.

"Yeah, when I got the email I was surprised Pete let me off so easy," Lucas laughed. Every Sunday morning, each employee got an email from Peter, the owner, letting them know the schedule for the week - who was working and when - and any news.

"What's your schedule like this week?" Lucas asked as he straightened up.

"Nights Monday to Wednesday, days Friday." It was actually a heavy workload, considering there were only fourteen shifts a week and at least six bartenders.

"Bummer." Lucas shrugged into his jacket. "I worked days today, then I'm on nights Thursday, and days again Saturday."

"You lucky bastard," Desmond scoffed. "Two days in a week? And one of them's the easiest thing in the world." Since Dusk opened at seven-thirty on Saturdays, pretty much all the bartender had to do was open and serve the occasional customer for about fifteen minutes before the night worker showed up.

"Yeah, well." Lucas shrugged, then flashed a smile. "I was born lucky."

Desmond rolled his eyes, shoving him, then took off his own hoodie, stowing it under the bar.

"So, you break up with your girlfriend yet?" Desmond had been waiting for this. Lucas absolutely couldn't stand Lucy; he'd asked this question whenever he and Desmond's paths crossed.

"Yes, actually," Desmond responded, standing.

Lucas gawped for a couple seconds, then practically cheered. "_Nice_!" he laughed, then slapped Desmond a high five. "Single now, are we? Better not tell Amanda, she'll be all over you."

"I'm not telling her, it's _you _I'm worried about." Amanda was another bartender, reasonably attractive, short, dark hair, who was secretly in love with Desmond. Not so secretly though, because everyone - including some of the customers - knew.

"No worries," Lucas said cooly, but there was a glint in his eye. "Anyway, I'm out. Have fun with the karaoke." He swept out from behind the bar and left, calling goodbyes to a few customers.

Desmond groaned. He'd forgotten about karaoke night. Every Monday starting at nine, the stage next to the bar was lit up and music was played, allowing the drunks - and the occasional actual singer - to step up to the mic and sing. There was over nine thousand different songs.

It didn't matter too much; Desmond didn't mind the drunken singing, but he found that the music was far too loud for his liking. He'd always had sensitive, finely developed senses, and he always came home after karaoke with headaches that made him feel like someone was splitting his head open with an axe. His sharp hearing and perfect vision were excellent for quiet or dark situations where he needed to find his way around using only his ears, or spot something from far away, but they were a huge disadvantage in loud, brightly lit areas.

Noticing a man sitting at the bar's drink was empty, Desmond immediately reacted and moved in front of him. "Another?" he asked.

"Please." The man nodded. "Bud Light."

Desmond took the glass, put it in the dishwasher to be cleaned later, then grabbed a new one and refilled the drink, pouring it expertly so that nothing spilled. If you sat at the bar, you'd have bartenders refilling your drinks without even asking. However, if you strayed away from the bar, you were on your own and had to come back and ask for another drink; the staff never left the bar to take orders.

As he placed the drink down in front of its owner, Desmond hoped - as he usually did - that this man would be honest about how many he'd had. The Dusk had an old-fashioned cash register that was incapable of keeping track of multiple bills, so Pete had implemented the honour system after bartenders tried and failed to write down what each customer had had. There was a sign behind the bar clearly stating this, and while some people found it necessary to lie and steal just to save a few bucks, most patrons were completely honest about what they'd had.

And so Desmond carried on like this for about forty minutes, serving drinks, charging customers, and chatting with those he knew. Suddenly, without warning, he felt his pocket vibrating—his cellphone was ringing.

Hurriedly, Desmond looked around - no customer was close to needing a drink - before answering.

"Hello?" he asked, heart pounding.

"Hi." That small, simple word said so much. It projected the British accent, letting Desmond know it _was_, in fact, Shaun. It was spoken somewhat nervously, and yet solidly, like he was anxious about what was about to happen but not going to regret it.

"Hey," Desmond repeated breathlessly, stunned immediately just hearing his voice. Then he shook his head lightly and said jokingly, "Two days is a little much, huh?"

A laugh floated through his ear. "Just wanted to make sure you wouldn't forget about me. And I just got off work; I called you as soon as I got home."

"I just got _on _work," Desmond responded, relaxing. "You should come by. It's karaoke night," he said invitingly, hoping with all his heart the other man would say yes.

"Sure, sounds fun." Was it just him, or did Shaun sound nearly as excited as Desmond felt?

"Okay," Desmond said cooly, but inside he was glowing. "It's 147 West 24th Street, do you know how to get here?"

"Yeah, I can handle it."

"Okay," the bartender repeated, delighted. "See you soon."

"See you." Shaun's voice radiated confidence and excitement, then the two hung up.

* * *

><p>Shaun wasn't there by the time nine rolled around, so Desmond had to set up the karaoke without him there, which made it even worse. Eventually though, it was turned on and ready to go. Desmond's eyes hurt already.<p>

The machine was the easiest thing in the world to operate: just scroll down to find which song you want, the get up and sing, so Desmond didn't have to do anything after setting it up.

Before he could sigh again - he'd been doing an awful lot of sighing in the twenty minutes since he hung up - the door opened, and in stepped Shaun. Desmond instantly took his elbows off the bar and stood up straight, smiling widely.

Shaun ventured over to the bar, eyeing the karaoke and the current people singing at it - a few girls in their twenties - suspiciously.

"This certainly is a lovely establishment," Shaun said loudly over the music as he arrived at the bar.

"You should see it when the karaoke's _not _on," Desmond laughed as Shaun sat down on one of the barstools. "Anyway, what can I get you to drink? We have Bud, Bud Light-"

Shaun waved a hand, cutting him off. "No no, I don't drink. Bad memories from university. Just a Coke."

Desmond was surprised, but went to the fridge and took out a can of Coca-Cola, pouring it into a glass with ice. Then, deciding Coke was too boring, he poured about a quarter of rum into the mix when Shaun wasn't looking, hoping it wouldn't be too noticeable.

"There you go." Desmond set the drink down in front of Shaun, who had been looking around. The Brit took a sip through the straw and frowned.

"What is this?" he asked suspiciously, then just as Desmond though he was going to get busted, announced, "It's great!"

"So," Shaun began, taking another sip as Desmond breathed a sigh of relief, "no uniform?" He looked over the rim of his glass with those judging eyes of his.

Desmond looked down at the black t-shirt and jeans he was wearing. "Well, we don't actually have a uniform. Pete - my boss - usually lets us wear what we want; I guess you could say that this really _is _my uniform."

Shaun had been drinking non-stop as Desmond talked, sucking the life out of his straw, so that by the time the American was done, so was Shaun—with his drink.

"Would you like another?" Desmond grinned. It wasn't like he was _trying _to get Shaun drunk, it was just to loosen him up a bit.

"Yes, please." Shaun pushed his glass forward.

* * *

><p>Four hours and six drinks later, Shaun was loose, all right. Too loose to drive.<p>

Even though Dusk closed at two on Mondays, Desmond figured one was good enough since he and Shaun were the only ones left in the room. He went around closing up as Shaun sat on his stool and sang Beatles songs loudly.

Finally, Desmond was finished. Grabbing his hoodie and pulling it on, he left the bar and went to go stand next to Shaun.

"Shaun? We're going, okay?" Desmond had learned the first thing you had to do was let the drunk know about his surroundings and what was going on. Because that's what Shaun was, drunk.

He'd only given the taller man six quarter-glasses of rum. It took a lot more than that to get Desmond drunk, which only showed how much of a lightweight Shaun was. Or how much of a heavyweight Desmond was. Didn't matter, Shaun was still drunk.

"All right," Shaun muttered, getting unsteadily to his feet. Desmond started walking toward the door, then looked back when he heard a noise. Shaun had fallen to the side, but lucky for him the bar was in the way, so he ended up leaning on it diagonally, a crooked smile on his face.

"Come on," Desmond pressed, turning back and grabbing the other man's arm, swinging it over his shoulder, then half-led, half-carried him outside.

"'Kay, bye." Shaun stumbled towards his car once they were our the door, pulling his keys out of his pocket. Desmond rolled his eyes and crept up behind the other man, snatching his keys out of his hand.

"Oi!" Shaun protested, whirling around.

"No driving for you." Desmond grinned, thoroughly entertained as Shaun tried to grab his keys back, then practically had to drag him back to where Desmond's bike was.

"And how the hell do you propose I get home?" Shaun demanded, trying to sound angry, but just sounded ridiculous; his words were slurred.

"On this." Desmond gestured to his bike.

Shaun gaped, then looked from Desmond to the bike, then back. "No."

"Yes. You've got no choice unless you want to walk."

"I've got no helmet," Shaun argued, but Desmond could see him cracking.

"Take mine then. I'm not going to get arrested." Desmond held out his black helmet. Reluctantly, the other man took it and put it on.

"Fine. But only because you stole my keys."

Desmond grinned and swung his leg over the bike. "Get on, then."

To his surprise, Shaun mounted like a pro, even in his state. He sat there stiffly, not touching Desmond.

"Unless you want to die, you'd better hold on," Desmond said, turning the engine on. Okay, he _was_getting a bit cocky, but it was fun.

Shaun slowly wrapped his arms around the other man's waist, leaning forward gingerly. Desmond could feel his breathing over the hum of the bike.

"What's your address?" Desmond asked, mentally kicking himself. After a moment's hesitation, Shaun told him, and to Desmond's surprise, he actually knew where it was.

"Hold on." Desmond grinned, kicking up the stand and easing out onto the street, getting faster where the road straightened out.

"Bloody hell!" Shaun hissed as Desmond's speedometer crept past eighty. "Are you _trying_to kill me?"

Desmond laughed. "Maybe."

* * *

><p>Apparently, going eighty with nothing separating you from the hard concrete but two wheels and an engine was a great way to sober up someone. As Desmond pulled up to Shaun's building, the Brit looked much more alert when he pulled the helmet off.<p>

"Don't do that again," he gasped, practically leaping off the bike as soon as it stopped.

Desmond grinned sideways as he took his helmet back. He had a habit of doing that, smiling with the right side of his mouth so his scar stretched out, making it more noticeable.

"You're welco-" he began cockily, but was cut off as another pair of lips met his.

Shaun was kissing him. He was kissing Shaun. It lasted for about two seconds, but it felt like longer. He could practically hear his heart hammering, jumping around his chest like some excited dog.

He wasn't sure who pulled away, or if they both just did at the same time. Shaun leaned back a couple inches, then smiled and said, "Thanks."

Desmond sat there, stunned, then Shaun turned and walked a whole lot straighter to his front door.

* * *

><p><strong>OMIGOSH IT FINALLY HAPPENED. And it sucks and it was super rushed D: There's a reason for that, though: I'm going to my cottage for two weeks and I wanted this posted so I could tell you guys about it x3 So yeah, no chapters for two weeks, but I will have a lot of time to write while I'm there, so expect a couple more chapters when I get back :D Love you guys!<strong>

**Anyway, Dusk actually _is _a real bar. It's very beautiful on the inside, but it closed I think last year or the year before, but let's pretend for Desmond's sake it's still open :3 Also, Lucas, Pete, and Amanda are based off of people I actually work with. I'm a hostess, so it makes sense, right? 8D**


	6. Betrayal

**shadowelf144: You're welcome c:  
><span>Ginger Katt<span>: I hoped you'd be happy :D Omnomnom... Desmond-cake...  
><span>ZombieOnTheMoon<span>: Yes they did o3o You like? 8D  
><span>Novoux<span>: Oh, thank you! I actually love writing it; no fear of me quitting on you guys :D Thanks for your review!**

**Also, huge thanks to:  
>-<span>crazycat1294<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>ZombieOnTheMoon<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>WolvenTerror<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>Presto1995<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>rottenorange<span>, for adding this story to their favourites and to their alert**

**WARNING: Sex scene ahoy! If you are of a young age/easily scarred for life, just stop reading. No seriously, there's a little X in the corner of your screen, just go ahead and click that. kthxbye. **

* * *

><p><em>He said, "Can you hear me—are you sleeping?"<br>She said, "Will you rape me now?"_  
>-<strong>30 Seconds to Mars<strong>' Buddha for Mary

* * *

><p>When Desmond let himself silently into the apartment, he was surprised to see Rebecca and Mel still up, sitting in the kitchen.<p>

"Ah, Desmond," Rebecca said as a greeting. "You're home early."

"Uh, yeah," Desmond muttered, nodding a hello to Mel. "It wasn't busy, so I closed at one."

Rebecca's kitchen was set up somewhat like a bar; the counter had stools behind it, facing the cupboards and appliances of the kitchen. Rebecca and Mel were sitting there now, Mel with a glass of white wine and Rebecca with a Corona. It looked as if they had been talking. About what, Desmond didn't know, and didn't really care. All he wanted to do was lay down.

"Is everything okay, Desmond?" Mel asked, looking at him with concern. She had dark hair and wide eyes, a kind face, was about the same height as Rebecca, skinny, and tanned most of the year. She was a resident psychologist, and usually had a good intuition whether people were upset or something was bothering them. Desmond often found that he could spill his thoughts to Mel; she was understanding and patient. And though Rebecca meant well, she was often the opposite: she wanted things to go, go, go, with no time to stop and think about it. And she blurted out things she shouldn't.

"Desmond's gay, did you know?" Evidently now was one of those times, as Rebecca spoke Desmond's secret casually, as if they were talking about the weather. Although it wasn't exactly a _secret_, Desmond would rather it had been him to tell Mel, instead of her girlfriend.

"Oh, really?" Mel turned her dark eyes to Desmond, an eyebrow half-raised. "What about that girlfriend of yours? What was her name...?"

"Lucy," Desmond said automatically, still standing awkwardly just inside the apartment's door, which he closed and re-locked.

"I broke up with her," Desmond continued, moving to stand behind the counter as if he was still a bartender. The girls could now sit comfortably on their stools without having to turn toward the door. "She was..." He searched for a word.

"A woman," Rebecca snickered. "And a bitchy one at that," she added. "I'm glad you never had to meet her, Mel."

"I don't think I'd want to," Mel said thoughtfully, then turned back to Desmond. "Gay, huh?" she asked, smiling.

Desmond described what he'd seen that Saturday yet again - it felt like the hundredth time - to her.

"So," Rebecca said casually when he'd finished, taking a sip of her beer. "Met anyone yet?"

"Becca!" Mel scolded lightly. "I'm sure if he _had _met anyone, he'd let us know when he's ready." But then she turned a curious eye to the bartender, and it seemed like she couldn't help asking, "But... have you?"

Desmond took a deep breath. He'd actually been practically bursting to tell someone. "Yes."

Rebecca, in the middle of drinking, inhaled sharply, then began coughing. "You _did_?" she sputtered.

"I did, believe it or not," Desmond said indignantly, somewhat angry that she didn't think he could meet someone.

"Well?" Mel asked like some gossipy teenager as Rebecca continued to cough. "Who is he?" She leaned forward, her elbows on the polished, pale wood of the counter, staring up at him with those big eyes of hers.

"Well..." Desmond didn't know where to begin.

Rebecca stopped choking and took a swig of her beer to soothe her throat, then fixed him with a glare. "Come on, or were you just making this up?"

"Does he have a name?" Mel asked gently, giving her girlfriend a hard look.

"Shaun," Desmond breathed. It felt good just to hear his name, to speak it, to know that it was real. "He's amazing, and funny, and nice..." All of a sudden, he felt himself rambling on about Shaun, describing what he was like, his appearance, his personality.

"Sounds like a keeper," Rebecca said when he'd finally finished, smirking.

"You met him _when _exactly?" Mel asked.

"Uh, Saturday," Desmond admitted, rubbing the back of his head, knowing it sounded a little soon.

"And it's Monday."

"Tuesday, actually," Desmond pointed out.

"You get the point." Mel fixed him with a hard stare. "All I'm saying is that you should know what you're doing before you go gallivanting off with the first person you meet." She'd gone into psychologist mode again.

Desmond raised his eyebrows, then pretended to ignore her. "Speaking of Tuesday: I have work to do tonight, so I _really _should be getting to bed. You ladies have a nice time, and try not to stay up too late, hmm?" he asked sarcastically, retreating into the living room, acting suave and cool. But as the doors closed and the grin fell from his face, Desmond yet again began to wonder if he was doing the right thing.

* * *

><p>The curious thing about dreams was that in those few moments after waking, you tend to believe it all actually happened, whether it was a good thing or a bad. And as Desmond was woken by a strange buzzing noise, he thought the dream he'd had was true, that Shaun was lying next to him in their bed.<p>

He opened his eyes, half-smiling, expecting to see the face of Shaun smiling back at him. But, like most awakenings, his was a rude one. Desmond frowned at the coffee table in front of him and wondered why it was in his bedroom, and why it held a buzzing phone on top of it.

Desmond gasped and stuck his arm out, sleep finally losing its hold on his brain. He quickly grabbed his phone, not bothering to look at who it was before irritatingly answering it. "Hello?" he asked sharply.

"Oh, is this a bad time?" Damn Shaun and his Britishness. Desmond's anger instantly melted away, and he felt himself smiling widely.

"No, of course not," Desmond answered, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

"I see." He could practically _hear _Shaun judging him, as he always did. "Anyway, about last night—"

Desmond clenched his teeth; he didn't want to hear what Shaun had to say about last night, fearing it'd be something bad.

"Aren't you, like, hungover or something?" Desmond blurted out before Shaun could finish his sentence, like some child who thought that if he distracted the news, it wouldn't come.

"About that." Shaun's voice rose. "How could you spike my drink? I'd even _told _you I don't drink, and yet you completely rebuffed my request and gave me bloody alcohol instead!"

"Uh, ignorant American over here," Desmond said meekly. "What's rebuff mean?"

Shaun sighed, sounding somewhat irritated. "Decline, ignore," he defined sharply, but then softened his tone. "But I'd been wanting to kiss you from the moment I'd laid eyes on you—the alcohol convinced me even more."

Desmond was stunned. "You're... not mad?"

"Oh, I'm mad. However, I'd be willing to... overlook your tricks if you tell me how you feel about me." The last few words left the Brit sounding somewhat embarrassed.

"How I... feel? About what happened yesterday?" Desmond was still somewhat surprised.

"Oh, he's smarter than he looks," Shaun said to no one in particular, maybe himself.

"I think it was brilliant," Desmond cut in before the other man could say anything else.

"You... you do?" Shaun sputtered, caught off guard.

"Yeah. Congratulations on making the first move, by the way," Desmond replied, feeling cocky, fuelled by the other man's nervousness. He put an arm behind his head and rested on it, holding the phone to his ear with his left hand.

"You idiot," Shaun said, but Desmond could tell he was grinning.

"Can this idiot come over?" Desmond asked, his confidence overflowing.

"Well sure, if you want to." Shaun sounded taken aback again. "You remember how to get here, I assume?" As if just remembering, he added, "Oh, and I'll need another ride on that deathtrap you call a vehicle, seeing as I conveniently left mine at your bar." His words were dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, sir," he said obediently, ignoring the other man's sarcastic tone. "I'll be over in maybe an hour; I have to get dressed and such," he explained.

"I'll be here. Apartment fourteen-nineteen."

They hung up, and Desmond immediately added Shaun's name into his contacts, half-wondering why he didn't do it the night before. But that soon became the least of his worries as he set down the phone and sat up, feeling the area around his boxers soaked. He blushed furiously as he realized his dream hadn't exactly been rated PG, the effects of which still lingered in the bulge in his underwear.

The only thing that had gotten wet was his boxers; he'd just slept in them, and it seemed in the excitement of his dream he'd kicked the blanket off of the couch. He could only be thankful that Rebecca was at work and wouldn't have looked in on him in the morning.

Since he'd be doing his own laundry, Desmond figured he could simply put his boxers in with his dirty clothing, and then wash them later.

What he needed was a shower. Desmond stripped off his boxers and put them in with his dirty clothes, then wandered, naked, into the bathroom, phone in hand in case someone - Shaun - needed to call him.

After finishing his shower, Desmond stepped out, dripping, and heard knocking—someone was at the front door.

_I'm in the fucking shower_, he thought, irritated. _Let them come back later_. The knocking didn't stop, though, for two minutes, until it abruptly ceased. Desmond felt somewhat content and continued to towel his hair, until a vibrating from the counter made him glance down.

It was a text message. From Lucy. _I know you're in there. Open the door. _Desmond stared at it for a couple seconds, dumbfounded, then wrapped the towel around his waist - he was still wet - and somewhat hesitantly made his way toward the front door. On the way there, he glanced at the kitchen clock—nearly noon. He still had more than half an hour before Shaun expected him at his apartment. The only catch was it took half an hour to get there.

"This better be fucking good," Desmond growled after opening the door. As he expected, Lucy stood there, a strangely nonchalant expression on her face. She looked him up and down, mostly looking at his bare chest, still glistening with water. A light shone in her eyes.

"I got my credit card bill yesterday—the card I thought I'd 'mysteriously' lost," she said, oddly calm, tearing her eyes back to his face.

A hundred things ran through his mind. Why was she so calm? Did she know he'd taken her card? Obviously, or she wouldn't be there. But how did she figure out where he was? He decided to go with the last one.

"How did you know where I was?" he asked suspiciously.

"I have my ways," Lucy answered shortly, then cut to a different idea. "I know you did it. I also happen to know that what you spent is half of what you make in a year, so if I was to sue you..." She trailed off, letting him finish the idea for himself.

"Your parents are fucking _millionaires_," Desmond said incredulously. "What does seventeen thousand—?"

She cut him off. "It's not about the money," she hissed. "It's about what you're going to do so I don't sue your ass." She forced her way around him into the apartment, casting a critical eye around, but saying nothing.

"What I'm going to do?" Desmond asked to her back. "What did you have in mind?"

Lucy whipped around, a ferocious expression on her face—Desmond couldn't tell what it was. "You're going to give me the best sex of my life," she growled, and then he understood her facial expression: it was lust. Pure, unhindered lust.

"_What_?" Desmond yelped, taken aback.

"You heard me," the blonde said throatily, moving closer to him. "I'll overlook what you've done, and you'll give me the best fucking sex I've ever had."

In spite of everything, Shaun's words flashed through his mind. _I'd be willing to... overlook your tricks..._, and he was reminded of where he was supposed to be.

"You're crazy," he gasped, but then she was on him, smashing her lips onto his, thrusting her tongue down his throat. Despite his best efforts, Desmond could feel himself moulding into her, returning the kiss. He lifted her up so she was straddling him just above his towel, then carried her into the living room, still kissing her ferociously.

As soon as Lucy was laid down on the couch she practically ripped her shirt, then her bra, off. Desmond grabbed her breasts and rolled them around in his hands. His brain was screaming at him to _stop_, to listen to his heart, to remember Shaun. But his hormones had other ideas.

Lucy wrapped her arms around him, reaching lower with one hand until she found the fabric of his towel. It came off easily, and Desmond half-hoped he wouldn't be hard, so she'd have to ignore him and go away, just like that. But there it was, standing at attention like some perverted soldier that obviously hated the brain it was attached to.

He and Lucy had had sex before, obviously, but nothing like this. Desmond greedily pulled down Lucy's jeans and underwear, revealing the beauty underneath. She was already wet.

His back hunched over so he could reach, he pulled down her jeans to her knees so he'd have room, then entered her as quickly as possible, feeling the lust.

Lucy's fingernails dug into his back and she cried out in delight as Desmond thrust inside of her, harder than he ever had with her, pushing until he was sure that the couch would fall through the floor.

"Harder," Lucy moaned, pure pleasure laced in her voice. "Harder Desmond, harder!"

Like some sex-crazed animal, he obeyed, pushing himself until it felt like she would break under his weight.

"Fuck me," Lucy moaned. "I'm coming, I'm fucking coming." Her back arched off the cushions, toward him, so he could feel her nipples brushing against his chest, hard and perky.

Desmond thrust faster, feeling himself nearing his peak too, breathing hard out of his nose.

And suddenly, it was over. He came inside of her and almost immediately pulled out, feeling disgusted and ashamed of himself as if his coming made him realize what he'd just done. Desmond half-fell off the couch and stumbled backwards a couple steps, away from the naked woman, who was still laying there, immersed in her own lust.

"Fuck, that was good." She opened her eyes and stared at him, making Desmond feel like he was her prey.

"Get out." He averted his eyes, no longer wanting to look at her. "I did what you wanted, now _get out_."

"Oh, all right." There was a soft creaking as Lucy stood up, then the rustling of fabric as she put her clothes back on. Suddenly, she was in front of him, right in his face so he couldn't look away.

"Seventeen thousand dollars is a lot of money. Don't think this is the last you'll see of me." And with these ominous words, she strode out the door, and hopefully out of Desmond's life forever.

He seriously doubted it.

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><p><strong>You really didn't think Lucy was just going to let Desmond <em>get away<em> with stealing her credit card, do you? Of course not! And this isn't the last time... o3o**

**Miss me? :D I've written another chapter, but I'm waiting until I get some reviews for this chapter before submitting that one. So... review if you ever want to see chapter seven again! -insert evil laugh here-**


	7. Lie

**shadowelf144****: Oh come on! She's not _that _bad. I think :3 And thanks (I think?) for being the first to review most of my chapters!  
><span>Ginger Katt<span>: I had hoped that someone would think that :D Good for you, chu gets a cookie.  
><span>bob-suck-me-dick<span>: Sorry to disappoint you, but there's minimal cuteness in this chapter :'( BUT SHAUNDES SHALL PREVAIL.  
>_: Clever you, not having any username at all. Well played, sir, well played.<strong>

**And big thank yous to:  
>-<span>Jess Rotzi<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>Daydreamer858<span>, for adding this story to their favourites**

**I know, I know, there should be more (I hope) but it's only been a day since six was posted. Pretty good for one day, eh? **

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><p><em>There are things I regret<br>What you can't forgive, you can't forget_  
>-<strong>Black Lab<strong>'s This Night

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><p>Desmond pulled up to Shaun's building twenty minutes late. He seriously hoped Shaun wasn't a stickler for appointments, because he'd said <em>maybe <em>an hour.

The night before, he hadn't exactly been looking up, but now that Desmond took a good look at Shaun's building, he saw it _was _really tall—explaining how Shaun lived on the fourteenth floor.

There was even a bit of grass in front of the building.

Wary of the dark clouds gathering overhead, Desmond parked his bike hurriedly then buzzed fourteen-nineteen. Shaun let him up and he stepped into the elevator, not noticing or caring about the sorry state of the lobby.

The elevator shuddered to a stop at the fourteenth floor. Desmond half-wished the trip were longer; guilt was tearing him in two as he walked down the hall. Half of him wanted to get right back in that elevator and never look back. That half of him knew he would never forget what he'd just done.

However, the other half pulled him down the hall, further away from the elevator. _This _half knew running away wouldn't solve any problems, just cause more. It told him to just tell Shaun what had happened; he'd probably understand.

Desmond was reluctant to listen to this half, though it still pulled him further down the hallway as he passed apartment nine. He allowed it to continue doing so, but he wasn't sure whether or not he was actually going to tell Shaun what had happened. He'd had no choice, right?

No, that was wrong. He _did _have a choice: a choice to surrender to the hundred-fifteen pound blonde who couldn't possibly do anything to him, or do the right thing.

_No, that was wrong too_, Desmond's subconsciousness whispered. _She _could_ have done something to you. She could've sued you, and you'd lose your money, your job, and anyone's trust, or she could've had you arrested, and then your life _really_ would've been over_.

It didn't matter though, because at that moment, Desmond reached apartment nineteen. He almost didn't want to go in. He'd been so excited about it not even an hour ago, but now guilt was clawing his heart apart. _How _could he have been so stupid?

But Shaun already knew he was there, having allowed him into the building. He couldn't walk away.

So, before he knew it, he'd knocked on the door. And before he knew it, it was opening, and there was Shaun, a smile that looked like it wasn't welcome on his face.

"You're late," Shaun said softly, and then Desmond understood he'd been trying to hide his smile so he could look angry.

"I'm sorry, I..." Desmond couldn't finish. He couldn't stop thinking about what he'd done not even half an hour ago. He could almost see Lucy laid down in front of him, up to her eyeballs in her own lust. She screamed at him to go harder, faster.

"No, no, it's fine. Apology accepted," Shaun said sarcastically, but there was an almost saddened edge to his sharp voice.

"If you're just going to stand there.." Shaun didn't say any more. He couldn't; there was a pair of lips getting in the way of his speech.

Desmond had thrown himself forward, feeling sorry for himself and for Shaun, and started to kiss him, hoping that his lips could be all the apology he'd need.

Apparently, it worked. They broke apart and Shaun's eyes shone a whole lot brighter and he smiled at Desmond.

"Ugh, come on, you've got a room right there, use it!" A man, clutching the hand of a small girl, stared at them from two doors down, disgusted. "Do you think I want my daughter exposed to... that?" he asked.

Shaun glared at him while Desmond shot him the finger. The man tugged his daughter away from them, back toward the elevator or the stairs—it didn't really matter. Just before they were out of earshot, the little girl asked, "Daddy, why were those two boys kissing? I thought it was Adam and _Eve_!"

"Fucking idiots," Shaun hissed, then grabbed Desmond's hand and pulled him into his apartment, closing the door behind him. "Gay marriage is _legal _now in New York; they should get used to it!"

"Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve," Desmond said, half to himself.

"What was that?" Shaun asked as he locked the door, clearly not hearing what the American had said.

"Remember what I told you happened outside the club?" Shaun nodded, giving the other man a half-sympathetic, half-odd look.

"Well," Desmond continued. "That was one of the protest signs—God made Adam and _Eve_, not Adam and _Steve_. There was 'No queer, no fear', 'Children need a mom and a dad, not a dad and a dad', and.." He paused, trying to remember.

"Oh, stop," Shaun whispered. "You know how much it _hurts _when I see those things? And every single time, I wonder if I should just... not be gay, you know? If it makes them go away."

"Oh, I know," Desmond said quickly, though he found he was rather de-sensitised and didn't feel a thing, even when he was listing the slogans. Or maybe he just didn't have a heart—either that, or it'd already been ripped out of his chest.

Shaun inhaled then exhaled quickly. "Anyway," he said briskly, "this is where I live." It seemed odd, like he'd said it just for the sake of saying something, because obviously he lived there or else they wouldn't be standing inside the door.

Desmond just stood there like an idiot, looking around the entrance. Shaun's apartment had an open concept, the kitchen and living room arranged so they looked like the same room. It was actually rather modern, with white walls, dark mahogany cupboards and table, granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and leather furniture. Standing at the door, Desmond could see almost everything in the main area; the kitchen was in front of him, to the right, and it opened up into the living room on his right. Immediately to his left there was a bare white wall with a closed white door, which he presumed was the bathroom. In between the kitchen cabinets and the dark leather couch in the living room was another closed door. The kitchen sink had a window above it that looked down onto the street and out at the buildings across the street.

In front of him was a polished wooden table with a glass top and four equally dark chairs around it. The table's right end was pushed up against a small wall that divided the living room and the kitchen; there were two chairs on either end of the table, and two on the side opposite the divider. On either side of the short wall were pillars stretching to the ceiling, and if one looked between these pillars from the kitchen, they'd have a perfect view of a flatscreen, and the four-foot tall, white-framed fireplace below it.

"Wow," was all Desmond could say.

"Yeah, it's not much," Shaun said, walking further into his home. "The renovations cost me a fortune, though."

With every step he took into the apartment, Desmond could feel himself being ripped apart inside. Shaun didn't _deserve_ someone like him; he was kind, smart, and funny, while Desmond was just a despicable person who didn't even know if he was gay or not. On top of that, he was selfish, because he _knew _that Shaun didn't deserve him, yet he stayed.

Shaun stopped and turned around once he was standing in the middle of his living room. "Is something wrong?" he asked worriedly when he saw the expression on Desmond's face.

"I..." Desmond whispered, once again unable to find his tongue.

"Are you okay?" Shaun wondered, moving toward him.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're crying..." Shaun pointed out softly. Desmond touched his cheek and was surprised to find it wet.

"Uh, allergies," he said quickly, sniffing and wiping his eyes with a sleeve. He gave Shaun a small smile that felt far too forced for his liking. "I'm fine, don't worry."

"Okay..." Shaun didn't look convinced, but walked around the divider into the kitchen. "Want anything?"

"Whatever you're having," Desmond said safely, following him after a short hesitation.

At that moment, a sharp scream came from the direction of the oven that Desmond couldn't help but jump at. "Jesus!" he gasped, then saw it was a kettle and let out a breath.

Shaun laughed as he took it off of the burner and turned the stove off. "You like Earl Grey, I hope?"

"Oh, I'm not much of a tea person," Desmond protested weakly, but didn't object as Shaun poured him a mug.

"Sugar? Milk?" he asked with a slight smile on his face.

"Ah... no." Desmond breathed in the vapours from the tea, finding that it soothed him and calmed his frantic thoughts.

"I prefer a little lemon myself," Shaun commented, opening the fridge and retrieving a small, lemon-shaped plastic container. He poured a few drops into his mug, then replaced the lemon juice in the fridge and closed the door.

Carefully, Desmond raised his mug to his lips as Shaun sat down at the table. He moved it upwards slowly at his lips, aware of the heat emanating from the tea.

Just as the first few drops were about to reach his lips, Shaun said nonchalantly, "So, did Lucy find out about he credit card yet?"

This simple question, asked by the wrong person, caused Desmond to jump and involuntarily tilt his mug forward, burning his tongue. He swung it down, away from his face, and tried to avoid spitting out the hot liquid now burning a trail down his throat. He spluttered for a couple seconds, feeling some of the tea make its way into his lungs.

When it was finally cleared, Desmond, still standing near the closed bedroom door, gasped and shot a sideways glance at Shaun. He was still staring at the American, taking the occasional sip from his mug, as if nothing had happened and he was simply waiting for an answer to his question.

Realizing how much of an idiot he was making of himself, Desmond all but stopped breathing and stood up straighter, smiling a little, crookedly. "Uh, what if I'd choked on that and died?" he asked, trying not to sound too stupid.

Shaun shrugged. "Well, I guess I'd have to hide your body, make sure no friends or relatives come poking around... What do you think? Bury it? Torch it? Make it into meat pies?"

Desmond laughed hesitantly, unsure if he was actually supposed to—Shaun looked dead serious.

"You didn't answer my question," Shaun pointed out after a few seconds of this. "Did she find out?"

"Uh... yeah," Desmond decided, staring down into his tea.

"And what happened?"

_Shit, shit, shit._ Desmond's brain went into overdrive trying to think of a suitable answer. "Um... She threatened to sue me, but I... scared her off." That's_ the best you can do? _he screamed mentally.

"You scared her off," Shaun repeated. Desmond looked up to see the taller man's eyebrows raised.

"That's what I said," the American replied, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt, because this lie, the terrible secret he was keeping, made him almost want to burst into tears.

* * *

><p><strong>Short, and the ending was kind of abrupt, but it's a Dear Diary episode next chapter! Huzzah!<strong>


	8. Dear Diary, Episode 2

**shadowelf144: Easy there O_O They've just met; not everything's like "You're hot, let's have sex", and not all relationships are even _about_ sex. That's the whole point of this story. It's about love and forgiveness c:  
><span>CheLeapofFaith<span>: Same here, believe it or not. I also despise AU stories, and now I've done both! Hooray for selling out your beliefs! Jk, jk. Seriously, though, thanks for thinking so :)  
><span>Ginger Katt<span>: You think I'm... clever? THIS IS THE HAPPIEST MOMENT OF MY LIFE. :'D Nah, I kid. Thanks :)  
><span>RavingSunshine<span>: First of all, thanks for reviewing every single one of my chapters! That actually makes me really happy when people do that c: I also love that the reviews are actually more than one sentence, so thanks for that too! Hope this chapter is up to your expectations :D**

**Also, extra thank-yous to:  
>-<span>CheLeapofFaith<span>, for adding myself to their alert and favourite authors, and for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>MoonDance-Wolf<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>Kayla112<span>, for adding myself to their favourite authors, and for adding this story to their favourites  
>-and <span>RavingSunshine<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites**

**I've added fancy date stamps to the diary entries! You can go check out episode 1 too, it's on there as well ;)**

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><p><em>I want to put my tender heart in a blender<br>Watch it spin around to a beautiful oblivion  
><em>-**Eve 6**'s A Beautiful Oblivion

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><p><strong>Tuesday, May 1, 2012 9:15 AM<strong>

_Dear Diary,_

_Bloody hell, my head hurts! I woke up about ten minutes ago to find myself in bed, still fully clothed, with a stabbing pain behind my eyes. I've been just laying here since then, until I decided to start writing about what I'm doing now, and here we are._

_I can't remember a whole lot from last night; that idiot Desmond must've spiked my Coke. Don't know how I didn't taste it; normally my taste buds are highly attuned to that kind of thing._

_The one thing I do remember though, and it's as clear as day, is the feeling of Desmond's lips on mine. I don't know who started it and I don't know who ended it, but I feel like my lips will never be the same again._

_It was brilliant. It almost feels like a dream, and I'm still not completely sure if it actually happened. But I _know_ I couldn't imagine the feeling of his scar on my lips. Yeah, I could feel the scar._

_...That's not the point! The point is that we're more than friends now—I think._

_Mum always said the best way to cure a headache was with tea. She said tea could cure anything, though. I guess it's time to find out, because my head feels like it's about explode._

**Tuesday, May 1, 2012 7:34 PM**

_Dear Diary,_

_Desmond came over today. We kissed again - it was his doing this time - but he seemed distant, distracted, like kissing me would get him back in the present. Then, almost as soon as he walked into my apartment, he started to cry. Not like full-on bawling, just tears that ran down his cheeks. He said it was allergies—as if I'd believe that._

_There was something odd about him the entire day. He nearly choked on his tea when I mentioned Lucy, then told me some ridiculous story about "scaring her off". Personally, I think he doesn't really know what he wants. He can't decide whether he's still in love with Lucy or is willing to move on to, let's face it, better things. He'll come around, though. They always do._

_I've just got back from picking up my car at Dusk. Desmond, again, acted odd. I think he smiled maybe five times today._

_Oh God. Maybe it's me. Maybe he doesn't actually like me at all, maybe he's just doing it to be nice, or to humour me..._

_What if?_

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><p><strong>Wednesday, May 2, 2012 4:05 AM<strong>

_Dear Diary,_

_I am such an _ass_. I honestly can't believe how rude I was to Shaun. He doesn't deserve any of this, and he doesn't deserve me._

_But, being the selfish bitch I am, I'm not going to say anything, because_ I know_ he's going to hate me, and I _know _I'll never be the same._

God_, I'm so stupid! That fucking bike isn't worth it anymore. I wish I'd just left her credit card where it was. Then I'd still be single, and not having to fuck my ex to avoid getting sued. But without the bike, there's no Shaun; that's how I met him._

_I can't even sleep... I got back from work about an hour ago; usually I'm too tired to even change into pyjamas before I crash wherever's comfortable. But it's four in the morning and I'm wide awake. I haven't slept in twenty-six hours, and oh God why do I even know that? Isn't twenty-six hours, like... not a long time to not be sleeping? Fuck, I _am _tired; I can't even form a sentence. I'm exhausted, but my brain won't shut itself off._

_I keep replaying that scene in my mind. I also keep thinking about how I'm laying in the same spot Lucy was fourteen hours ago. I can almost smell her perfume._

_Fuck, brain! Shut up, _shut up_!_

_I'm considering telling Rebecca, or maybe Mel, about what happened. Mel would probably be a better idea; she'd understand, wouldn't she? Rebecca'd probably either make fun of me or tell me off for something._

_Maybe Lucy won't come back. Maybe Shaun won't find out about what I did. Or maybe I'm just the biggest asshole in the world and I should just go die somewhere._

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><p><strong>Who do you feel more sorry for, my lovely readers? Personally, I feel really bad for Desmond, keeping all his emotions inside :(<strong>

**Review please, and I hope you're enjoying!**


	9. Vent

**Ginger Katt: He's just so easy to love ;A; For some reason he's become my favourite character, even though when I started playing I was like "gtfo Desmond, get me back to Ezio". Now, replaying ACII, I'm like "why can't I leave the Animus? I wanna talk to Shaun and Lucy D:".  
><span>RavingSunshine<span>: Story isn't called _Beautiful_ for nothing. Sorry, there's going to be very little -descriptive- mansex. Don't worry, there WILL be some, though :3**

**Thanks to:  
>-<span>Kiminoloko<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>Nostalgic-Romance<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Inkraven<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Fiqas<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>clumsyZebra<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>Colomba-Bianca<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites **

**You guys don't seem to get that the less reviews I get, the longer it takes for a chapter. I know a lot of people say that just to get reviews, but for me it's real. Reviews greatly increase my motivation to write; I want to post the chapter faster so I can reply to your lovely reviews. So, if you want chapters faster, review: it's not that hard. And if you don't want a chapter... then why are you here?**

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><p><em>Tell me, would you kill to save a life?<br>Would you kill to prove you're right?  
><em>-**30 Seconds to Mars**' Hurricane

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><p>A week passed, with no sign of Lucy—and no sign of Shaun, either. Desmond locked himself away in Rebecca's apartment, leaving only to go to work. He didn't <em>want <em>to leave, didn't want to see Shaun, didn't want to see the look on his face.

The only thing he did while at home was sit on the couch, face in his hands, feeling the shame that was coursing through his blood. Sometimes he let himself cry, knowing he needed to let out some of his emotions.

And then, all of a sudden, Mel walked in, Rebecca peering over her shoulder. Desmond looked up, startled, then scrambled backwards a bit, toward the far end of the couch. He felt a bit like a cornered animal as Mel slowly came toward him and sat down on the other side of the couch.

"...What do you want?" Desmond asked hoarsely, throat raw from a combination of tears and barely speaking. He quickly swiped a hand over his eyes and face, then wiped them of emotions, keeping himself guarded.

"I'm worried about you Desmond," Mel said gently, then added, "_We're _worried about you. What's going on? You almost never leave this room."

Desmond didn't know how to react. He was furious about being treated like a twelve-year-old, a child who couldn't take care of his own problems, but he almost desperately needed someone to vent to. He opened his mouth and was about to pour out his feelings, but changed his mind at the last second, realizing the situation he was in. His shame and anger built up, and exploded out his mouth in way of words.

"I'm a full-grown man, an _adult_, and you think you have the _right_ to come in here and ask me what's the matter?" He began softly, but soon enough his voice rose. "I can drive, I can vote, I have a job, an ID, a fucking _motorcycle_, and you treat me like a child, who can't solve his own problems!"

This was the opposite of what Mel wanted. Obviously she'd wanted him to immediately confess to her what was wrong, then they'd figure out a solution, pat each other on the backs, and be best friends forever. She just stared, looked at him with her big eyes, and suddenly Desmond was reminded of Lucy, begging with her eyes to get whatever she wanted, and hot, fresh rage and shame grew.

He stood. "It's none of your damn business, and it's none of _your _business!" he said loudly, glaring at Rebecca who still stood in the doorway. Fighting to keep himself from hitting someone or bursting into tears - he wasn't sure which - Desmond strode out of the room, pushed past Rebecca, and out of the building.

* * *

><p>Desmond drove, weaving in and out of traffic like he usually did, but this time the power underneath him, the humming of his bike's engine, gave him no excitement. Soon, tears blurred his vision until all he could see was the red and white of the cars' head- and tail-lights.<p>

His pocket buzzed. Desmond ignored it, fighting to stay on the road without hitting anything or getting run over. Soon enough, though, he stopped in front of a familiar high building with a small bit of grass between it and the street.

Desmond awkwardly parked his bike and stumbled up to the main entrance. Blinking tears out of his eyes, he tried to find the buzzer for fourteen-nineteen, when he remembered his vibrating phone. Ironically enough, the text was from Shaun: _Hey, are you okay, haven't heard from you in a while. -S. _It was true; there was a string of unanswered texts, not just from Shaun, but from anyone else, little things: Rebecca wondering when he'd be back from work; Lucas asking about their shifts; his friend, Michael, commenting that they hadn't talked in far too long. All these small things, how rude he was being to anyone and everyone who tried to show even a shred of kindness toward him, made him feel even guiltier. The only thing he was good for was being a burden, dragging other people down with him.

Turning his head, Desmond eyed the dim outline of his bike, hard to see in the night because of its black paint. He could just imagine himself getting on, throwing the helmet as far away as he could, and gunning it down an empty road, to slam full-speed into an oncoming car, a building, even just a pole...

Desmond shook these dark thoughts from his mind and faced Shaun's building again. It wasn't that he didn't want to kill himself, he was just scared about how much it would _hurt_.

Quickly, he found fourteen-nineteen and pushed the button. Checking his watch, he realized with surprise that it was past ten, and hoped Shaun wouldn't be too annoyed to answer.

After two minutes, a soft "Yes?" crackled out of the speaker.

Desmond took a deep breath. "Hey, it's me," he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "Can I come up? I really need to talk to you." His voice broke at the end, and he half-whispered so he wouldn't sound like he was crying.

There was a brief silence, as if Shaun was debating whether or not to let him up. "Okay," he decided, following a small sigh. The door clicked, letting him know it was unlocked.

Desmond took a shaky breath and let himself in, keeping his head down in the lobby in case anyone was watching. He hated when people saw him cry, even if they were complete strangers.

In the elevator, his phone vibrated once more. It was Rebecca. _Hey, I'm sorry about earlier, but could you come back? Lucy's here, and it seems like she really wants to talk to you. Hopefully this isn't about—_

Desmond read no further. He knew _exactly _why Lucy was at Rebecca's apartment. She'd also probably hoped he'd be there alone, so she could do what she did best—screw someone over.

In that instant, Desmond's anger at Lucy, at _himself_, grew to the point where he clenched his phone in his fist and screamed, "Fucking BITCH!" It was louder than he'd expected, and, surprisingly, it didn't make him feel any better. This in turn distressed him more because if venting his anger couldn't get rid of it, then what could?

The elevator shuddered to a stop and the doors opened. Desmond, breathing deeply, barely noticed the person in front of him until he spoke up.

"Oh... it's _you _again." It was the man who'd seen him and Shaun kissing. He didn't have a daughter in tow this time, though.

"Heard you screaming in there," he continued. "I hope you don't actually _live _here; I wouldn't want someone like you anywhere near me while I'm sleeping."

Desmond just glared, his left hand clenching into a fist.

"Oh, I guess you didn't hear me?" the asshole said like he was talking to a five-year-old. "Stay. Away. From. This. Building." He annunciated each word clearly.

Desmond had had enough of being treated like a child. He stepped forward into the hallway as if he was about to walk away, but then whipped around and slammed his fisted hand into the other man's face.

Blood instantly spurted out from his nose, and the punch was so hard the man was thrown to his right, into the door of fourteen-two. He leaned forward a bit, just off the door, feeling his nose gingerly, then looked up. "What the _hell_?" he yelled through the blood that was now pooling over his teeth and into his mouth.

Fourteen-two's door opened, its owner alerted by the banging and yelling. From it emerged - of course - a rather annoyed, muscular-looking black man, the type of man you'd want to avoid pissing off.

"What's going on here?" he demanded. The man Desmond had hit turned his head so that the other man could see. "Fucking asshole punched me," he spat, a couple drops of blood shooting out of his mouth in the process.

Fourteen-two looked back up at Desmond, and he stepped around the other man, rage in his eyes.

Doors further down the hall were beginning to open; people wanted to see what the commotion was. Tenants of different genders, sizes, and race were looking at him now, either in suspicion or anger—or both. Most of the men and even a couple women were approaching him, looking ready to pick a fight. Desmond backed up, an instinctive fight-or-flight reaction making him feel like a trapped animal.

As more people moved in, Desmond found himself bumping into a door. Frantically, he reached behind him and jiggled the handle; the door must lead to the stairs, his escape route. But, to his despair, it was locked. Desmond looked to one side to see a sign—the stairs closed after ten PM.

The black man was on him now, swinging a fist toward him. The whole world seemed to slow down as adrenaline overloaded Desmond's brain. He ducked out of the way and countered with a swift uppercut, followed by a blow to the man's stomach. The tenant's head first snapped backward, then he doubled over as the wind was knocked out of him. He fell forward onto the tile floor, moaning in pain.

There were murmurs from the crowd, and some of the anger was replaced with uncertainty as a few people backed away slightly, unsure how to handle what they'd just seen. A gap opened, and Desmond took this as his opportunity to take off running down the hall, rounding the corner as fast as he could, then skidding to a stop outside fourteen-nineteen. He banged hurriedly on the door, hoping no one was giving chase.

After several nerve-wracking seconds, Shaun opened the door. "Hey, what took you so—?" he started, but Desmond quickly forced him back into his apartment, closing the door behind him.

"What are you_ doing_?" Shaun asked, looking more confused than angry. "Oh my God, is that blood?"

Desmond just stood there for a couple seconds, whimpering, then he threw himself forward, just needing to hold someone, to make sure he wasn't invisible to everyone.

"I-beat-someone-up-because-they-were-defending-someone-_else_-who-I-punched-because-he-told-me-not-to-come-near-his-building-because-I-was-screaming-in-the-elevator-because-I-needed-to-let-my-anger-out-because-Lucy-is-at-Rebecca's-apartment-and-probably-still-_is_-because-she's-a-whore-who-threatens-people-with-sex-and-oh-God-Shaun, I _fucked her_!" He let all of it out in one breath, and by the end he was crying uncontrollably. To make matters worse, he said most of this into Shaun's shoulder, so there was no way the other man could've understood anything he was saying. Instead, Shaun just stood there and hugged him, keeping him upright.

"Calm down," he urged. "I can barely understand a word you're saying. Come here." And he lead Desmond over to the leather couch and lowered him down onto it. The American was crying through his guilt and shame and sat there, staring up at Shaun.

"I'm _sorry_," he whispered.

"Hang on a moment." Shaun held up his hands. "_What _are you talking about?" he asked, sounding worried, then sat down next to Desmond, who slumped forward, knowing the confession he'd have to spit out.

"This could take a while," he breathed.

* * *

><p><strong>It's getting so hard to write Desmond lately D: I don't <em>want<em> him to be so emo and angsty, but it's necessary for my story ;_;**

**I was thinking about the scene in the hallway, trying to figure out a way to get Desmond out of there without getting beat up, and then I was like YES. He still has Assassin-like reflexes and can counter attacks! Makes no sense, but just go with it o3o**

**Sooooo I was watching Yes Man the other day, and I honestly spent the whole movie looking for Danny Wallace -shot- It came to the scene where he was sitting at the bar, and I nerded _all over the place_. I was like HOSHIT IT'S DANNY WALLACE, and my family ignored me D: And then in the credits where it said his name (because he fucking _wrote_ the book) I pointed at the screen like HOSHIT IT'S DANNY WALLACE, and I was ignored again :'( I'm such a freaking fangirl.**


	10. Acceptance

**RavingSunshine: I know, I feel bad for making him go through all this ;_; Let's just say his luck will improve sooner rather than later :D  
><span>shadowelf144<span>: Welcome, hun ^w^  
><span>AussieTex<span>: Oh, I love rambling fan rants, makes me feel special :3 Thanks for your lovely review!  
><span>Ginger Katt<span>: He's not just Danny Wallace, he's THE Danny Wallace. Lololol, that made my day 8D  
><span>KittyWitch-and-Zanny<span>: Oh, he wouldn't have gotten _killed_, just beat up a little bit x3 But yeah, I'm glad that didn't happen too. Pfff, funny story, I actually found out Danny Wallace was in Yes Man because I was creeping his IMDb page o3o**

**Also, big thanks to:  
>-<span>Dagger Kitsune<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>TheDawn'sShadow<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>AussieTex<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>tiggergirl11465<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>Aspenmist<span>, for adding this story to their alert**

**That's more like it with the reviews, guys! I finished this chapter quickly for you guys :D It's a little short, but hey, you get a chapter. Less reviews = more wait time. It's a fact of life. Well, my life o3o**

**No one saw what I did there with Michael in the last chapter :c From now on, I'm inserting a little nod to the AC series in each chapter. If you guess it right, you get... nothing. But it's fun, eh? :D It could be anything; a name, a thought, just a little mention, but you'll know it when you see it. **

* * *

><p><em>Every word, every thought, every sound<br>Every touch, every smile, every frown  
>All the pain we've endured until now<br>All the hope that I've lost, you have found_

_Surrender yourself to me_  
>-<strong>Billy Talent<strong>'s Surrender

* * *

><p>Desmond confessed <em>everything<em>, even how he'd let Lucy seduce him; she hadn't forced him, he'd consented.

"I... I honestly don't even know why I did it," he whispered, then looked up at Shaun for the first time. The Brit didn't look angry, or disgusted. He looked... disappointed.

"Do you hate me?" Desmond asked softly, fully prepared to get up and leave, to walk out of Shaun's life forever.

"Where'd the blood come from?" was Shaun's neutral response. He was avoiding Desmond's eyes, looking at the floor, into the empty fireplace, at the blank TV, anywhere but at the man sitting next to him.

"I sort of punched a couple people's lights out," Desmond admitted. "I guess when I broke the guy's nose his blood got on my face."

"Why?"

"Uh, he was taunting me. Then more people tried to attack me, trying to defend him I guess. When I'm cornered, it's not a pretty sight."

"Oh." Shaun still just sat there, and still wouldn't look at Desmond.

"Oh?" Though Desmond felt relieved he wasn't being yelled at, he thought Shaun would react a little differently to finding out his almost-boyfriend slept with his ex and then beat a man up.

"Don't you have anything else to say? _Look at me_," Desmond said, a little too forcefully.

"Oh, I have plenty to say." Shaun finally turned to face Desmond, his voice rising at the same time. Immediately the American sensed he'd said the wrong thing.

"I don't even know where to _start_," Shaun said, sounding exasperated. "I mean, there wasn't really anything wrong with you sleeping with Lucy—I'd barely just met you. But you didn't _tell _me? Even after... everything that's happened?"

He looked ready to start again, and Desmond really didn't want to get yelled at any more, so he leaned in and kissed Shaun. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Oh, no!" Shaun looked less angry than flustered, but that didn't stop him from lecturing. "If you think the whole kiss-and-everything'll-be-fine is going to work, you've got another—"

Desmond kissed him again, longer this time. Shaun surrendered.

"I'm so sorry," Desmond said quietly when he pulled away.

Shaun smiled softly. "Apology accepted."

Desmond felt so relieved, so elated that he could still be with Shaun, that he buried his face in the other man's neck, hugging him fiercely.

He felt Shaun laugh and wrap his arms around the American. Desmond's throat and eyes were raw from crying, and suddenly he was tired. He felt himself falling asleep. A brief feeling of embarrassment crossed his mind; he _was _about to sleep in Shaun's arms, in Shaun's apartment, in such a way that the taller man couldn't move without disturbing him until he woke up. But these thoughts were quickly forgotten, and Desmond drifted off, content for the first time in a week.

* * *

><p>He dreamed. It was brief, and only flashes of it passed through Desmond's head before they shot off again into oblivion.<p>

First, Shaun was speaking to him, though there was a loud roaring in his ears; he could only see the other man's mouth moving.

"I can't hear you!" Desmond said desperately, reaching toward Shaun. But just as his fingers were about to touch the Brit's face, it exploded outwards, replaced by Rebecca's. She split in two, both halves regenerating themselves to create a new person—Mel. Neither of them said anything, just looked at him. Rebecca looked annoyed, while Mel looked almost sad, like she couldn't do anything about... what? Something, obviously.

Everything fell apart and Desmond found himself on his couch again, pounding himself into a form underneath him, who was face-down. The person's back arched upwards with pleasure. He couldn't see, for some reason, their head, and their body was fuzzy and blurred, as if he was looking through water; he couldn't tell from his dim view whether the thing he was having sex with was a woman or a man.

"Yes, Desmond." Again, the voice was strange; it was neither male nor female, but a strange mix of both that made it impossible to tell.

In his befuddled mind, Desmond figured it was Shaun; a dream come true. It didn't matter to him how this was happening, or why it was happening. It was happening.

_But wait..._ Abruptly he stopped, pulling out immediately. _Wasn't I in _Shaun's_ apartment?_

"Mmmm, why'd you stop?" the person under him asked lazily, rolling over, revealing breasts, and leaning upward to kiss him. As its - her - face got closer, it all of a sudden became crystal clear

Lucy.

Desmond jerked awake, his eyes snapping open. For a brief moment he thought he was shrouded in a blue light, the rest of the room in muted blacks and whites. But it must've been residue from his dream; half a second later, his vision cleared.

He was laying down on Shaun's couch, said couch's owner facing him, with his arms wrapped around the American. Shaun was asleep with his glasses still on; they were crooked and nearly falling off his face.

Desmond's nose was about two inches away from Shaun's. He relaxed, comforted by the other man's gentle breathing, and soon drifted off again.

He wouldn't remember his dream in the morning.

* * *

><p>Desmond awoke slowly come morning, reluctant to get up. Eyes still closed, he shifted to one side, thinking the weight on his body was a blanket, perhaps a pillow. Rolling over, he was surprised to find empty air where a couch should be.<p>

Desmond cried out as he fell, instantly jerking completely awake. The fall was less than two feet, but it nearly gave him a heart attack. He landed on his elbows and hips, wincing, knowing they'd bruise.

When he'd yelled, Shaun jolted awake. "Bloody hell!" he grunted, sitting up and fixing his glasses on his face, blinking at Desmond, now on the floor.

"Uh... hi," Desmond said awkwardly, still on his elbows.

Shaun raised an eyebrow. "My couch not good enough for you? It's sleeping on the floor now, eh?"

Desmond hurriedly sat up, laughing self-consciously. He was making himself look like even _more _of an idiot.

Somehow, his phone knew what was going on and vibrated to break the tension. Desmond pulled it out of his pocket - where it had been all night - and checked it. Ten unread text messages and three missed calls. Nine of the messages from Rebecca. Desmond hurriedly read them in chronological order:

_Come on Desmond, seriously. Lucy's here and she's getting more pissed off by the second._

_The fuck, Desmond! I know you're mad but at least tell me what to do about your pestering ex! She's been here an hour now..._

_Lucy says she isn't leaving until she sees you. Get back here NOW._

_Honestly, Desmond, this is starting to freak me out, Mel as well. It's nearly one in the morning and I want to go to bed, but Lucy isn't leaving and there's no way I'm letting her run around my apartment unsupervised._

_Wait, did you tell her where you were? How does she know where I live?_

_You have some explaining to do._

_I can't handle this any more. I have work in the morning and I need to sleep. Mel went home a while ago, and you should do the same. If anything's missing in the morning you're paying._

_Desmond! She's STILL HERE. And it looks like she hasn't moved since last night. Did you die or something? Answer me!_

And the most recent one, the one he'd just received—_I have to leave for work in an hour. If you're not back here by then to collect Lucy, I'm calling the cops._

The three missed calls, as he'd suspected, were from Rebecca. She'd left no messages; she didn't need to.

And the one other text, received at 2:03 AM—from Lucy. _You can't hide from me forever. Sooner or later you'll have to come back here, and I'll be here. It'd better be sooner._

"Fuuuuck," Desmond moaned, tipping his head back.

"Hmm?" Shaun asked from the kitchen, where he had somehow ended up.

"Lucy's _at _Rebecca's place, and she's been there all night, waiting for me." Desmond decided to stay on the floor; he wasn't sure that standing up wouldn't make him fall right back down.

"You going to run again?"

"Well, I can't, can I? But there's no _way _I'm having sex with her again." Desmond tried to sound firm when he said it, but his voice wavered a little in the last few words. He sighed, lowering his head.

"You know what?" Shaun said, appearing by Desmond's side and kneeling down next to him. "How about I come with you?" He placed a comforting hand on the American's shoulder.

Desmond smiled and stood up. "Thanks." Then he grinned, adding, "But you know... that means you'll have to ride on my deathtrap of a vehicle."

"You're ruining the moment."

"You scared?"

"Shut up."

* * *

><p><strong>Find it? Let me know in a review :)<strong>


	11. Confrontation

**tigergirl11465: Yep :) Thanks for your review!  
><span>AussieTex<span>: I know, and he even _works_ at a motorcycle dealer... Wuss.  
><span>PancaekPirate<span>: I love this review. You made me feel so warm and fuzzy x3 Thank you _so much_ for this :D  
><strong>**Ginger Katt****: "This is the sunset shot, right?" (If you get that reference, you're awesome.) And hell yeah it was!  
><strong>**RavingSunshine****: That was purposely done. I couldn't leave Lucy's character like it was in the game or she'd be like *gasp* "Desmond! Take a break from teh Animus!" And he'd be like "Wha?**** Crazy bitch..." Also: sad Desmonds a day keep the doctor away. It's been proven.  
><span>rottenorange<span>: I'm glad I took away your precious sleeping times ;) I wrote her to be a bitch on purpose; she's far too nice in the game, if you ask me.**

**And huge thanks to:  
>-<span>Thasken<span>, for adding myself to their author alert and adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>Reese97-10<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-and <span>stevies shack<span>, for adding this story to their favourites**

**Yes, the nod from last chapter was the Eagle Vision from when Desmond woke up. Congratulations to those who guessed right! **

* * *

><p><em>Go on, crush me like a flower rusted from the rain<br>Come on, strip me of my power  
>Beat me with these chains<br>And if I'm the king of cowards, you're the queen of pain_  
>-<strong>Billy Talent<strong>'s Rusted from the Rain

* * *

><p>Desmond insisted on leaving the apartment first, to make sure there were no angry tenants waiting outside the door with torches and pitchforks. By insisted, he meant practically pushing Shaun out of the way and running to open the door and stick his head out. And by torches and pitchforks, he meant cops and lawsuits.<p>

Luckily, however, there was no one in the hall, and with several odd looks from Shaun, Desmond darted his way toward the elevator without being seen.

"Want to tell me what that was about?" the taller man asked as he stepped into the elevator.

"Nope."

"Okay."

And not a single fuck was given that elevator ride.

Outside the building, the sun still hadn't risen above Shaun's tall apartment. It was surprisingly cold, and Desmond couldn't help but shiver even under his sweater. Nothing he ever did seemed to escape Shaun, and the Brit raised an eyebrow, looking sideways at Desmond. "Need a coat, princess?"

"I'm sure _this_'ll keep me warm," Desmond said, grinning and putting a hand on his bike once they reached it. Shaun just gave him an unimpressed look.

* * *

><p>Once they were on the road, the true severity of his situation hit Desmond. Lucy was extremely rich and powerful - at least, her family was - and he was going to chew her out. At least he hoped that's what they were going to do. Desmond felt Shaun's grip tighten around his waist as the bike tipped around a car, and suddenly, he didn't care. All that mattered to him was being able to be with Shaun.<p>

He had given Shaun his helmet, so while the wind was tugging beautifully at his face, so were a lot of bugs, causing him to duck his head every time he saw a cloud of them coming. This in turn caused the bike to swerve more, tightening Shaun's grip on the American.

And Desmond could suddenly care less about the bugs; they weren't hurting him, and there was actually very few on the road. All he could feel was Shaun's arms around him, his chest rising and falling against Desmond's back, and the American wouldn't want anyone else to be with him more.

* * *

><p>"Well, here we are," Desmond said when he'd turned off his bike, truly nervous now, and it was showing in his voice. "Casa dolce casa," he added, in an attempt to ease this nervousness.<p>

When they arrived at Rebecca's door, Desmond took a deep breath. "You're sure—?" he began to ask Shaun.

"Of course I'm sure or I wouldn't be here, would I?" Shaun asked, then smiled. "Go ahead."

Desmond inserted his key into the lock, then steeled himself and turned it, pushing open the door.

Rebecca was on him in an instant. "What the _fuck_?" she demanded before he could even walk inside. "She's been here all night!"

"Uh, Rebecca, meet Shaun," Desmond interrupted, gesturing to the taller man.

"Why didn't you—oh," Rebecca began angrily, then stopped when she realized why he hadn't called.

"Well, okay," she said, then ushered both men into the apartment. "_Deal with her_."

Desmond stuck his head around the corner into the living room, the door of which was left open. Lucy was sitting on the loveseat, legs crossed and on her phone. Desmond, furious and about to give her what she deserved, stepped into the room, Shaun just behind him. This was enough, though, to cause the blonde to glance up.

"About time," she purred, standing, eyes flicking to Shaun, then taking a couple paces toward them. "And who's this?"

"I'm the one who's going to put a stop to all this!" Shaun said forcefully. "Listen, you little harpy—"

Lucy laughed loudly. "Ha! 'Put a stop to all this'? There's nothing _either_ of you can do about any of this, unless you want to be sued up your _asses_!"

This didn't deter Shaun, though. "You can't go around forcing your ex to have sex with you just because he's too scared to do anything about it!"

"Hey—!" Desmond protested, but Lucy cut him off.

"Can't I?" she demanded, taking a step closer. "I have one of the best lawyers in the city, and I _will _sue his sorry ass whether you want me to or not!"

"Oh, come on!" It was Shaun's turn to step closer. He and Lucy were practically nose-to-nose now. "This counts as sexual harassment! No means _no_!"

"Funny. I don't remember a 'no' being said," Lucy shot back, somewhat mockingly. Desmond froze.

"Liar," Shaun hissed.

"Ask him yourself then!"

Both of them looked at Desmond, who felt his hands shaking. She was right; he'd never actually uttered a 'no' or refusal of any kind.

"...Desmond?" Shaun asked, looking unsure of himself. "She's lying, right?"

Desmond's eyes flicked to Lucy, who was wearing a smug grin, then back to the Brit. "Shaun—" he began helplessly.

"You... you _let_ her?" Shaun looked disgusted. "What was I thinking? _You'd_ be the one contributing to the sex, not her! She couldn't _make _you hump her!"

"Yeah, and what else was I supposed to do?" Desmond demanded, defensive. "She's _insane_! You couldn't possibly be blaming me for this!"

"And why not?" Shaun's voice rose. "I can't believe you'd do this to me."

"To _you_?" Desmond was still shocked he was being blamed, and retaliated with anger. "I barely knew you! I could've done anything I wanted; I was _single_."

"And that's not going to change anytime soon!" Shaun yelled, turning on his heel and storming out of the room past Rebecca, who was peeking in the doorway.

"Wow," Lucy said after a few seconds. Desmond turned slowly back to her to see a satisfied smile on her face. "That was _way _more entertaining than your sex, worth seventeen thousand dollars even."

"Will you leave me alone now?" Desmond asked in a hoarse whisper.

She shrugged. "Sure. I'm sure there's no way you're going to get laid in a long while; I'm not going to do you any more favours."

_Favours?_ Desmond's brain demanded. His fists clenched. There was nothing he wanted to do more than make her wipe that grin off her face. But Shaun was more important. Leaving Lucy in the room to stand there grinning her face off, Desmond whipped around and hurried out of the apartment, after Shaun.

* * *

><p><strong>A lot of you have been mentioning how bitchy Lucy is in this story. The more I do it, the more I'm liking this new Lucy; she's <em>way<em> too nice in the game, in my opinion. She needs to let her bitchy side out. That's what this story is for.**

**Also, sorry it's so short. That's on purpose o3o**


	12. Confusion

**RavingSunshine: No comment c: Except that I don't hate you o3o  
><span>rottenorange<span>: Thanks :D Hopefully this is up to your standardssss  
><span>Song Of The Midnight Wolf<span>: Here you go then. And yes, I _love_ the long reviews. Makes me feel fuzzy :3 **

**Thanks as well to:  
>-<span>Yuki Aritsune<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>arisaxlavi911<span>, for adding this story to their alert and their favourites  
>-<span>Islienne<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Kayla112<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>Song Of The Midnight Wolf<span>, for adding this story to their alert and their favourites**

**FINE. I'll give you this. But you don't deserve it. All I want is reviews. The _only_ reason chapters are delayed is because I'm not getting enough. I'm bursting with ideas for this story; I'll probably never get writer's block, at least not until later on (knock on wood). I also posted a one-shot (She Sees Me Raise the Knife); I'd appreciate some reviews for that as well. Thank you my lovely readers :)**

**Nod from last chapter was "Casa Dolce Casa", a mission in ACII.**

* * *

><p><em>Exile<em>  
><em>It takes your mind again<em>  
><em>Oh, you meant so much<em>  
><em>Have you given up?<em>  
><strong>The National<strong>'s Exile Vilify

* * *

><p>Desmond burst out of the door in time to see the heel of Shaun's shoe whip around the corner, down the stairs.<p>

"Shaun! Wait!" he cried desperately, racing after the taller man. As he rounded the corner, he could hear the clicking of Lucy's heels behind him; she was leaving Rebecca's apartment. He could care less.

Desmond launched himself down the stairs; they were set up so that he could only see to the landing before having to reach it and go around the corner again.

He caught Shaun on the third landing, halfway between floors six and seven. "Shaun!" Desmond said again, grabbing the Brit's arm, who was clearly ignoring the other man.

"Come on, I'm _sorry_—"

"Shh," Shaun interrupted quickly. "Is she following you?"

"What the—?"

"Is. She. Following. You," Shaun repeated, then held up his hand, tilting his head to listen. The clicking of Lucy's heels was still after him. "She's coming. Pretend to fight with me."

"I'm sorry, _what_?" Desmond asked incredulously, thoroughly confused.

"I can't _believe _you followed me!" Shaun said unnecessarily loudly, then made a frantic hand motion for Desmond to continue.

"Oh," Desmond realized, then began again, louder: "You're _unbelievable_, you know that? None of this was my fault!"

Shaun grinned and nodded, then adopted an angry facial expression as Lucy came around the corner. "There you go, blaming other people—"

"Don't let me interrupt," Lucy interrupted, a wicked smile on her face. She stepped around them and continued down the stairs, holding her chin high.

"Like I was saying..." Shaun said loudly, then trailed off as soon as Lucy was out of earshot.

"Can you _please _tell me—?" Desmond asked desperately, but Shaun threw his arms around the American, effectively cutting him off. He cautiously returned Shaun's hug, still very unsure what was happening.

Shaun let go and pulled his head back, grinning.

"What's going _on_?" Desmond demanded.

"I'm not mad at you."

"Oh, good. I figured. But what was all that? All that..." He searched for a word. "Anger?"

Shaun laughed. "No anger. I was _never_ mad at you, actually. From what you'd told me of Lucy, she seemed to enjoy other's suffering. So I figured that if _you _suffered, she'd let you off the hook. Did it work, by the way?" he added curiously.

By now, Desmond was completely baffled. "_What_?" he asked again.

Shaun huffed. "I pretended to be mad at you so Lucy'd take advantage of that and leave you alone."

"Um..." Desmond still found all this very odd. "Okay?"

"Did it work?" Shaun pressed.

"Oh, yeah, she said she'd leave me alone." Desmond stopped, realizing something. "She said... she'd leave me alone," he repeated slowly, finally feeling free.

"Well, good." Shaun smiled proudly. "You've nothing to worry about."

"I think I love you," Desmond said, overcome with gratitude. The man standing in front of him had gotten rid of Lucy, a feat the American never even thought possible. He brought his lips to Shaun's and kissed him tenderly, hoping his thanks would be clear.

"You're welcome," Shaun gasped when they finally broke apart.

"I think history isn't right for you," Desmond said suddenly, smirking.

"Eh?" Shaun inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. You should be an actor."

* * *

><p>"Oh, good, you're back," Rebecca said, looking up when Desmond walked back in to the apartment. "Is Shaun—?" she began, but stopped when said Brit followed Desmond through the door.<p>

"You pretended to be mad so Lucy'd go away?" the brunette guessed immediately.

"Yep," Shaun replied, smiling proudly. Desmond was absolutely dumbfounded that he was the only one not to figure it out.

"Well, good thing you guys aren't fighting anymore," Rebecca was saying. "Lucy won't be coming back right?"

"No thanks to me," Shaun replied, a little too cockily, which earned him an elbow in the ribs.

"I helped too, you know," Desmond pointed out.

"Um, _ow_, first of all. Secondly, you unintentionally helped, which doesn't count. All the credit belongs to me."

Rebecca giggled. "You guys are so cute."

Shaun and Desmond just stared.

"Oh, and by the way," the American started again after a few seconds. "She was my problem in the first place, so I at least get a few bonus points."

"_How_?" Shaun demanded.

At this point Rebecca burst out laughing. "I can't believe you're _actually _fighting about this."

* * *

><p>Shaun went home after a few hours, saying he would take the subway. After Rebecca had left for work, the two men mostly hung around the apartment, watching tv and cuddling on the couch. They talked a lot; Shaun learned how Desmond got his scar, and Desmond learned that Shaun had a fascination for the unexplained.<p>

When Shaun left, it was already dark; Rebecca had probably gone out with Mel and wouldn't get home until later.

Desmond, yawning, padded into the living room and swung the doors shut. He flicked on the tv and sat down on the couch. Cake Boss was on; there'd been a marathon on for a different show during the day, and the two men had needed some background noise. But as Desmond watched, he became fascinated with the cakes, the way Buddy created such large masterpieces out of fondant and icing.

"What's your problem?" Buddy was saying to a particularly incompetent employee.

"Hey, wassa-matter you?" Desmond said, imitating the baker's heavy Italian accent.

"That's racist," a small, rather British voice said to the left of him.

"_You're _racist," Desmond shot back immediately without thinking. But then he stopped, snapping his mouth closed, and turned slowly to the left.

Shaun was grinning at him from a darkened corner.

The American jumped backward and flattened himself against the couch, gasping. "What the—? How did you _do _that?"

"Magic," Shaun responded airily, then came to sit down next to the bartender.

"You went home ten minutes ago... Didn't you?" Desmond asked suspiciously.

"You left the door unlocked." Shaun shrugged, then smirked. "I thought I'd teach you about security."

"You're funny," Desmond said sarcastically, then turned back to the tv. "It'll be even funnier when you give me a heart attack."

"Oh, come on," Shaun laughed. "I'm kidding." He reached over and turned the other man's head back toward him.

Desmond felt his face heating up as Shaun's hands made contact with his skin. He avoided the taller man's eyes, feeling embarrassed. This made Shaun laugh, softly. The light in the room was very dim, but Desmond thought he saw pink dusting the other man's cheeks as well.

"Come here," Shaun said, holding out his arm. Desmond nestled himself into the Brit's side, feeling content.

"This show _is _really stupid, though." Shaun sounded amused.

"Shut it," Desmond growled, flicking off the tv. "Better now?" It was very dark.

"Perfect."

* * *

><p><strong>YOU'RE FUCKING WELCOME.<strong>


	13. Memory

**RavingSunshine: Yeah, I thought you'd be happy about that :D Thanks for all your reviews, by the way! I'll try and update quickly if you can get other people to review ;)  
><span>Song Of The Midnight Wolf<span>: Aw, welcome! I actually had to sit there for like half an hour trying to figure out a way to end their fight ;_;  
><span>Kiminoloko<span>: Thank you :D I really try with these characters. And yes, that was the nod ^^  
><span>shadowelf144<span>: Hmmmmm, you never know c:  
><span>Ginger Katt<span>: OH U. That review was one of the best I've gotten in my life! The reference is from Rango, by the way c: I missed you last chapter o3o**

**And thanks to:  
>-<span>loveinlimbo<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites**

**Thanks for the reviews guys :) I know I'm b'awwwwing way to much about it, but I really hate posting something that no one reads. **

**Nod from last chapter was the "that's racist" "_you're_ racist" thing. That's my favourite scene in the whole game c:**

* * *

><p><em>When I was a young boy, I was honest and I had more self-control<em>  
><em>If I was tempted, I would run<em>  
>-<strong>Stabilo<strong>'s Flawed Design

* * *

><p>An entire month passed. Desmond and Shaun's relationship grew stronger every day, and there was never any sign of Lucy. Then, at the end of May, Mel moved in with Rebecca. It was a joyous occasion; Shaun even came over to help her move. They all had a few drinks—aside from Shaun. He seemed to be thinking hard about something the whole night, but after ten or so beers, Desmond wasn't paying attention any more.<p>

The next morning, Desmond woke blearily at nine or so. He was on his couch, and there was Shaun, curled up on the love seat. He didn't look to be in a very comfortable position.

Desmond stretched, standing. He padded over to where Shaun was laying, then crouched down and shook the other man's shoulder. He was curled up, hands close to his chest, head lowered; he'd even remembered to take his glasses off.

"Shaun," Desmond said softly. "Wake up."

In spite of his brain telling him it was impossible, Desmond couldn't help feeling like the other man wasn't going to wake up. Seeing him there, unmoving even with physical contact, dragged up unpleasant and painful memories.

* * *

><p><em>"Mommy!" a young Desmond cried happily, jumping onto a bed empty other than his mother's form. His father had died when he was two; this woman was all Desmond had left in the world.<em>

_"Mommy, come on, get up, I'm _hungry_." Desmond sat down with a huff and shook his mother's shoulder, gently at first. Her back was to him; she was curled up in the bed, strangely still._

_Desmond, being the innocent young child he was, thought this was a game, that his mother was still pretending to be asleep. In just a little bit, she'd jump up and scare him, like she had done so many other times._

_"You're not getting me this time..." Desmond whispered to himself, crouching down like a cat as preparation for his sneak attack._

_"Gotcha!" he yelled, grabbing her shoulder and turning her over._

_Desmond screamed, louder than he ever had. His mother was not sleeping. Her deep brown eyes - so much like his - were wide open, blood soaking the entire front of her body. There was a red gash from the bottom of one of her ears to the other. It wasn't a neat one, either: the cut was very jagged and bits of flesh hung off._

_Unbeknownst to the screaming child, the closet door was creaking open, a hooded man with a small blade in his hand stepping out._

_Desmond felt the air rushing by his head and reacted instantly, without thinking. He flung himself out of the way, screaming even louder. The knife caught the edge of his lip, however, creating a long gash in his mouth. Tasting blood, the young child panicked and bolted toward the door behind him. The man in the white hood was still recovering from his miss and didn't run after Desmond fast enough._

_The child tore down the stairs, then reached the front door and flung it open, barely registering it was unlocked. He nearly ran into a pair of legs behind the door as a neighbour caught Desmond in her arms._

_"What's wrong, child?" she asked as Desmond sobbed into her dress. "I heard screaming!"_

_By now, late on a Sunday morning, people had begun to walk or drive home from the service at the local church, causing the road and sidewalk outside to become quite crowded. The hooded man cursed, then slipped into the bedroom and back out the open window._

_Except he didn't jump down. He climbed up. No one noticed the white blur jumping from the Miles' rooftop to the next house, then down the street across roofs._

* * *

><p>"...Desmond?" a bleary voice was asking. Said American was jolted back to the present. All he saw was a caramel-brown eye staring him in the face.<p>

Shaun yawned and sat up, searching for his glasses on the nightstand. Desmond just stared straight ahead, totally shocked. He'd _never_ remembered that happening before. He was told by his foster parents that his real mother had died in a car accident. He should've seen it coming! Parents _always _seemed to "die" in car accidents, then the main character would discover or remember something shocking, turning his life and anything he thought was true upside-down.

"Uh, are you okay?" Shaun was standing above him. Desmond finally blinked and seemed to start breathing again. He looked up, still crouching in front of the love seat.

"Yeah," he said, but to his ears it sounded like someone else's voice; it was small and so much unlike his own, yet so much like the young him.

"Well, you're crying and bleeding, and I woke up to see you just crouching there, staring. But if you think you're okay, that's fine by me." Shaun waved him off and moved into the kitchen, probably to make himself some tea. Too bad Rebecca didn't have any.

"Bleeding?" Desmond whispered, touching his scar unconsciously. His fingers came away red.

A searing pain exploded from his lip, no doubt remnants of his memory. But _why _had it started bleeding? And_ how_?

Desmond pushed his fingers back onto his scar hard, dulling the pain somewhat by applying pressure. He hurried out the now-open doors into the bathroom, Shaun giving him an odd look as he went by.

Inside the bathroom, Desmond closed the door gently and locked it with one hand, then looked at himself in the mirror.

The first thing he noticed was his eyes. They were glazed over and dull, seemingly devoid of life. He blinked furiously, trying to return his eyes to normal. They were freaking him out; they looked just like his dead mother's had.

He couldn't worry about them just yet, though; he had to stop the bleeding. Desmond grabbed a few tissues and pressed them onto his scar, staring at himself in the mirror again.

Shaun had been right; he _was _crying. Using his left hand, Desmond pulled one more tissue out of the box and used it to wipe at his cheeks.

He was still absolutely stunned by the memory and the fact that the only parents he'd really known had lied to him. Desmond removed the tissues from his lip. The bleeding had stopped. He tossed all the sheets into the garbage and examined himself in the mirror one more time.

His eyes still looked dead. Desmond put on every facial expression he could think of, even smiling widely until his re-opened scar stretched painfully, but none of them ever reached his eyes. It was freaking him out.

Breathing deeply, Desmond emerged from the bathroom, figuring that if he didn't think about the problem, it would go away.

"Does this roommate of yours have _any _tea?" Shaun huffed, rummaging through cupboards.

"No, actually, she doesn't," Rebecca grumbled, emerging from her bedroom, still in her pyjamas. She edged around Desmond, still standing in the middle of the hallway, giving him a look on the way by but not saying anything. "Now stop going through my cupboards!"

"Listen, you do _not _want to see my without my tea—!"

There was a soft laugh behind Desmond. Mel, having also just emerged from her bedroom, was behind him.

"He's so funny," she said, smiling. "No wonder you love him."

Desmond just grunted in response. He turned back to the kitchen to watch Shaun and Rebecca bicker, leaning heavily against one of the walls.

Mel wouldn't quit, coming to stand in front of him. She seemed to notice his eyes. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Fine," Desmond muttered, looking down at her but avoiding eye contact.

"You sure? You're bleeding." She gestured to his face, where his damned scar had opened up again. Desmond turned, reached into the bathroom, grabbed another tissue, then held it to his face. He turned back to Mel, who had a not-so-impressed expression on her face.

"All better," he said, trying to sound cheerful. Mel didn't look impressed, but seemed to sense he didn't want to be bothered and turned away.

Shaun and Rebecca were still arguing. It was actually kind of funny. Desmond had no idea what their conversation had led to, but it seemed to be moving to him.

"Well, maybe I should just ask Desmond to move in with me if you—" Shaun stopped, a slightly confused look in his face; he'd said something he shouldn't have. Desmond waved it off, dismissing it as sarcasm, and turned back to throw his tissue in the garbage. He stopped when he realized everyone was looking at him.

"What?"

"Oh come on, that's as good as it's going to get," Rebecca answered grinning.

"What the hell are you—?"

"He wants you to move in with him!" Mel practically squealed, throwing her arms around him. Desmond looked to Rebecca to support, who nodded, still grinning.

"Um.." he said awkwardly, detaching Mel's arms from around him. "Shaun, is this true?"

"Well, I.." Shaun began, then shot Rebecca a glare. "I _was _going to ask you later, in a more private spot, but these idiots—"

"Of course I will," Desmond laughed. "I knew you were thinking about something last night."

Shaun's face lit up briefly, but then he wiped it before he looked _too _enthusiastic. Typical Shaun.

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><p><strong>Lololol u mad?<strong>

**As always keep it up with those reviews! See you in a few days if all goes well :)**


	14. Dear Diary, Episode 3

**CheLeapofFaith: Thanks! I needed some kind of emotional thing in there, so there you go ;_;  
><span>Vithian<span>: I would really love if lurker reviewed more than once :3 Canon Lucy I used to love (LOL, I still do x3) but I'm preferring mine more and more :D  
><span>Ginger Katt<span>: Go watch itttttt. LOL, I can tell (..What? That makes no sense, she's a character -_-) that Rebecca was going to ask Desmond herself if Shaun didn't soon enough o3o  
><span>Song Of The Midnight Wolf<span>: Aw, thanks :) Fanboyness is perfectly acceptable here, since the story is _about_ boys :D  
><span>GloomyPearl<span>: LOL, I am like the _queen_ of memes. I know them all, and I love most of them :D Me gustaaaaaaa**

**And huge thanks to:  
>-<span>Luna Marek<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Shikaxshake<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Vithian<span>, for adding this story to their favourites and their alert  
>-<span>Muchitsuyo<span>, for adding this story to their favourites and their alert  
>-and <span>GloomyPearl<span>, for adding this story to their favourites**

**I'M SORRY D: I don't even know what happened. I know I promised this in a few days, but I just couldn't write. It _wasn't_ writers block, more like author's block: I couldn't write _anything_, let alone this chapter. Okay, that's kind of a lie. I was also working on another Sixteen one-shot (Crazy, which I'd also love some hits/reviews for D:) and that took up a bunch of time. After that was posted... idk. This chapter honestly took me maybe an hour, I just don't know why I waited so long. Enjoy the less-than-thousand-words Dear Diary :D**

**Nod from last chapter was the hooded, white-wearing, knife-wielding man that killed Desmond's mom. Was it an Assassin? THAT'S FOR ME TO KNOW AND YOU TO FIND OUT. This chapter's nod is a bit harder to find, good luck ;)**

* * *

><p><em>It's you and me, and all of the people<br>And I don't know why I can't keep my eyes off of you_  
>-<strong>Lifehouse<strong>'s You and Me

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, May 26, 2012 9:30 AM<strong>

_Dear Diary,_

_I can't stop staring at my phone. It's just a simple text, Desmond asking me to help come move Mel into Rebecca's apartment._

_This sounds silly, but there's been this... invisible thing pushing a nagging needle further and further into my heart every time I look at Desmond. It's not like I feel guilty for anything, oh no—I love him to bits and I'm fairly confident he feels the same._

_However, for the last couple weeks I've been feeling the empty walls of my apartment pushing in around me, crushing me. It's so quiet. Normally I'd love the peace, the seclusion, the absence of annoying flatmates to bother me. But the more time I'm spending with Desmond, the more I want to _have _some excitement, some humour, even some bloody company. For the last... oh God, I don't know how long it's been... two or three years maybe, it's been a never-ending cycle for me of work then coming home to an empty apartment. It's not to say I don't have any friends..._

_Fuck, who am I kidding. I _don't_ have any friends, at least I didn't. All my life I just wanted to get to the top of my class, that I could be popular _after_ I got a good education and a good job. I got the education all right, but now I have a crappy job _and _I'm lonely._

_Desmond's made me realise how amazing it is to have someone to talk to, someone to hang out with, someone to just tell all your problems to. I want that _all _the time, not just when we hang out._

_I want to ask him. I just don't know the words._

**Sunday, May 27, 2012 4:10 PM**

_Dear Diary,_

_I did it. Well, Rebecca sort of did it for me, but _he said yes_._

_However, when Desmond and I were moving a few boxes into my apartment, I saw a man who lives on this floor, David I believe - who had somehow acquired a rather nasty cut on his nose - glare at us as he pulled his little girl down the hallway. He had this look in his eyes, a look of pure anger. Asshole._

_Anyway, Desmond's just left for work. He said he'd be back around nine._

_Despite knowing what I do, I can still feel these bare walls suffocating me. I wonder if I'll always have to have Desmond with me in here now. I doubt it'll be _that_ bad, but nine o'clock couldn't come sooner._

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, May 28, 2012 12:07 AM<strong>

_Dear Diary,_

_I never saw this coming! Rebecca kept telling me it was obvious, that Shaun was practically bursting to ask me, but I must be blind or something because I never figured it out. None of that matters though, because I'm here now, I'm in Shaun's bed and he's sleeping beside me._

_I usually take a few days to adjust to a new sleeping arrangement, so it'll take me an hour or so to fall asleep. I decided to write this to help me fall asleep; there's just enough light from the open window for me to see._

_This is real. This is actually _happening_. I thank whatever gods there are every single day that I got to meet Shaun, and somehow got him to love me._

_I'm looking at him now... He doesn't frown while he's sleeping. It looks nice._

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><p><strong>LOL, gotta love Shaun ranting about his life :D Hope you enjoyed and review please!<strong>


	15. Insomnia

**Song Of The Midnight Wolf: Aw, thanks :) Good to know someone likes this!  
><span>JCgurl1201<span>: Oh my gosh, thank you _so much_. Honestly, I love when people leave long reviews like that, talking about what's been happening in the chapter ;_; And about the DesShaun thing, I know this sounds weird, but the exact same thing happened to me O_o I wasn't really _that_ much of a DesShaun shipper - more DesLucy (odd, right?) - but I watched _I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry_, and that together with _I Love You, Phillip Morris_, made me write this :D -end life story-**

**And thank you to:  
>-<span>lovethehate<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>Vincent Sansa Halestrom<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>WolfieX3<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>Anmutuberalles<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Frayfray115<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>YourConscience813<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-and <span>JCgurl1201<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites, and for adding myself to their alert and favourites**

**The nod from last chapter was pretty hard to find, but it was David, AKA David Cross who was an Animus Subject - Subject Four I believe - in the 80s. Or was it the 90s? Anyway, there's no nod this chapter. I couldn't find anywhere to put it ;_;**

* * *

><p><em>When I lay with you, I could stay there, close my eyes, feel you here forever<br>You and me together, nothing is better  
>'Cause there's a side to you that I never knew<em>  
>-<strong>Adele<strong>'s Set Fire to the Rain

* * *

><p>May eventually turned into June. The children were on summer vacation, which meant less school buses for Desmond to be annoyed by. It also meant, well... more children.<p>

Desmond despised kids. They were too loud, too spoiled, and too small. Most of them didn't know what it was like to have to work for something.

He was plagued by nightmares. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his dead mother's. He'd considered contacting his adopted parents to ask them about it, but decided not to.

Every night he'd get maybe two or three hours of sleep. Sometimes, he'd lay there for six hours, staring into the darkness and wondering if a hooded man would jump through their open window. Shaun would awake in the morning and ask why he'd closed it.

"Okay, what's wrong?" Shaun asked one day in early June, sitting up in bed to find Desmond shivering next to him.

The American didn't answer.

"Desmond. I need you to talk to me." Shaun sat him up. Desmond looked at him, seeing and knowing his concern.

"Nothing," the bartender replied softly. "There's nothing wrong."

"Fine." Shaun's eyes turned hard. "But could you at least tell me what happened at Rebecca's? _Why_were you bleeding?"

Desmond cringed. He'd never told Shaun about his memory. "I... had a dream."

"Okay."

"About my mother."

"Go on."

"I was told that she died in a car crash... but..."

"But?" Shaun reached to his nightstand and put on his glasses.

"She was murdered."

"What?"

"In my, uh... dream, I saw her body. I saw her killer."

"Well, who was he?" Shaun's eyes were wide with curiosity.

Desmond shook his head. "I don't know. He was wearing a hood. But now I know how I really got my scar."

"I thought you said you'd got it in a fight, as a kid?"

He shook his head again. "That's what I thought, that's what I was _told_. The same man who killed my mother is the same man who gave me this scar."

After a pause, Desmond looked up at Shaun. The Brit had a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Bullocks," he eventually decided. "It was a dream."

Desmond groaned. "_What_? You think I made this up?"

"I didn't say that. This was just a dream. It doesn't necessarily mean it happened."

"You're unbelievable, you know?" Desmond threw the sheets off his body and stood up. "I'm going out."

"...In your pyjamas."

"Maybe!"

* * *

><p>Desmond took deep breaths as he rode his motorcycle across Manhattan. He did end up getting changed, albeit extremely quickly, before taking the elevator down to the ground floor.<p>

Why couldn't Shaun just believe him? He'd heard loads of time about people spontaneously remembering things on a whim. But no, that wasn't good enough for Shaun.

It was still pretty early - 6:30 - so there was hardly any other cars on the road. Desmond felt disappointed. He wanted to swerve around and past them, feel like he was in control of something in his life. His eye twitched.

Suddenly, a great tiredness took ahold of his body, probably from the forty combined hours of sleep he'd gotten in the past two weeks. He shook his head hard and focused on the road.

His pocket vibrated. Keeping one hand on the bike - probably not the best idea - Desmond reached into his jeans and checked his phone. From Shaun, of course. _Hey, I'm sorry about earlier... Listen, why don't you come back? I need to leave soon and I have a surprise for you. -S_

Desmond half-considered shoving his phone back in his pocket and driving further away, but he just couldn't stay mad at Shaun.

* * *

><p>As he pulled up in front of his building, Desmond's head began to pound. Removing his helmet, he rolled his neck, clenching his teeth together against the pain.<p>

A shriek resonated from the grass, making Desmond gasp as his head reacted. He turned his gaze to the front of the building, about as annoyed as he could get.

David, the man he'd hit a few weeks ago, was sitting on the grass, his little girl running around him. She was laughing, a high-pitched sound that hurt his brain.

Gritting his teeth, Desmond began the twenty-foot walk to the door that felt like a hundred. David noticed him and stopped smiling, just glaring. When Desmond reached the door and pulled out his key, David's eyes widened considerably.

"You _live _here now?" he demanded, rising.

"Free country, bitch," Desmond hissed, opening the door.

"Hey! She's only eight!" David pulled his daughter in closer, clutching her forearm.

"And I'm only twenty-four. Doesn't that mean I shouldn't have to put up with assholes like you?" Desmond was starting to feel fed up and even more irritated.

David's face grew red and he opened his mouth to retort. Before he could, Desmond held up his hand and slipped inside the door, hurrying, but half-hoping he'd be followed, to the elevator.

* * *

><p>"I hate humanity," Desmond stated as he closed the apartment door behind him. Shaun was sitting at the table, laptop in front of him, his hands wrapped around a half-empty mug. Desmond didn't understand how his boyfriend could drink hot tea in the summer.<p>

"Oh?" Shaun asked, looking up. "What happened?"

"Never mind." Desmond shook his head, then wandered over to the table. "So you said you had something for me?"

"Why'd you have to keep your last name?" Shaun asked, staring at the screen. "It made finding your foster parents a hell of a lot harder."

"What?" Desmond asked, baffled, and leaned over Shaun's shoulder. A YellowPages window was open, with his adoptive parents' names and phone numbers.

"You could've just asked me," Desmond laughed, wrapping his arms around Shaun's shoulders from behind and resting his chin on the Brit's collarbone. "Remind me: _why _do you need this?"

"We're going to call them to see if they're lying, of course," Shaun replied, totally non-challant, patting his phone where it sat on the table.

Desmond removed his arms and backed up a pace. "Uh, no, we can't do that."

"And why not?" Shaun didn't look up.

"_Because_," Desmond began, then took a deep breath and collected himself. "Because I don't want then finding out."

Shaun laughed, a short, sarcastic laugh. "I think it's more the other way around, love."

"What do you mean?"

Releasing his tea, Shaun turned his torso around in the chair, resting his arm on the back support. "I think _they're _the ones who didn't want you finding out about certain happenings of your past."

"Maybe." Desmond moved closer and rested his hand on Shaun's, the one that was still on the phone. "But, please, don't call them, okay? I know how curious you are, but they're not young anymore. I don't want them to worry."

"Ah, okay," Shaun sighed. After a brief pause, he asked, "is is okay if I look them up on the web? For scientific purposes only, of course."

"No."

"How about your birth parents?"

Fighting back his overwhelming need to know, Desmond managed, "no."

Shaun half-looked like he was about to protest, but then got up to the left, away from Desmond. "Fine. If you don't want me to look, then I won't."

The American gritted his teeth. He hated when people did this, when they agreed but you could see in their eyes that they really didn't. Guilt-tripping. If Shaun wanted to argue, then why didn't he just fucking _argue_?

Desmond realized he was being unreasonable. He should be cherishing what he and Shaun had, not getting upset about everything.

The next thought that passed through his brain was _fuck-it-I'm-too-tired-and-my-head-hurts-too-much_.

"I'm going to work now." The words were barely out of Shaun's mouth before he vacated the apartment. Desmond half-considered going after him, apologizing, so they wouldn't part angry at each other. What if something happened to Shaun, and they were mad? He'd regret it for the rest of his life.

Desmond mentally shook himself. "That's never going to happen," he muttered, then yawned widely. He was so _tired_.

"He'll be back, and I can apologize tonight." Half-asleep already, Desmond stumbled into the bedroom and collapsed under the sheets, waiting for sleep to take him.

Nothing.

His eyelids felt like they weighed a ton, and yet sleep wouldn't come. The worst feeling in the world. He lay there for a few more minutes, tossing, then sat up, feeling restless.

"Fuck!" he hissed, then decided, then and there, to buy sleeping pills.

Nothing was going to stop him from sleeping.

* * *

><p><strong>WHAT. Look it up.<strong>


	16. Blackout

**Ginger Katt****: PFFFFFFF foreshadowing? For what? o3o And you're right, it's not; this is completely AU. However, I did throw in a couple references to his past life, but none of it happened.  
><span>XxXminimocaXxX<span>: Oh goodness, such a long review :D I can't tell you _how_ happy those make me. Thank you _so much_ for that, and thanks for all the compliments :)  
><span>Americana Psychotica<span>: Thanks! Also, I'm watching In & Out... It's awesome :3 ALSO also, American Psycho reference in your name, methinks? -favouritebookever-  
><span>naien543<span>: I fell in love with Shaun the moment I saw him. -serious face-  
><span>MonochromeFox<span>: Yay for reading my entire story in one day :D Thanks _so_ much, and the more story-stalkers, the merrier ^_^**

**Thanks for the reviews, and thank you to:  
>-<strong><span>XxXminimocaXxX<span>, for adding this story to their favourites, and for adding myself to their favourite author and their author alert  
>-<span>ZetaAdele<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>lemonlimediddies<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Americana Psychotica<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Rixam Kirimaru<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>Vera Aderyn<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>Anime Muppet<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>naien543<span>, for adding this story to their favourites and their alert  
>-<span>Michelle-san<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>RannaLi<span>, for adding this story to their favourites****

****Sooo... _Revelations_ came out yesterday.****

****I need to get this out: SPOILERSPOILER PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED. IF YOU _DO_ READ, DON'T COME CRYING TO ME WHEN YOUR DREAMS ARE CRUSHED. ...Lucy dies in ACR. Shaun buries her. I cried. ENDSPOILER. I WARNED YOU.****

****Also, please don't mention that^ in any reviews. I'd rather not spoil it for anyone else.****

****On a lighter, less spoiler-ish note, turns out Desmond actually _was_ a bartender in New York City when he was hiding from the Assassins. I'm a freakin' genius. ****

* * *

><p><em>Shouldn't I feel alive?<em>  
><em>I swear that I tried t<em>_o be all right, t__o sleep at night_  
><em>Shouldn't I feel alive?<br>_-**Scary Kids Scaring Kids**' A Breath of Sunshine

* * *

><p>Less than half an hour later, Desmond returned, clutching a small blue box of Sominex, which instructed adults to take only two pills for a full night's sleep. He downed four without any water, falling into bed once again. By now, the sheets were kicked around every which way from his tossing and turning, so he just fell onto the bunched-up sheets, not caring.<p>

Desmond opened his eyes and immediately looked at the clock. 6 pm. He fell back, laughing in relief; nearly ten hours of sleep, finally. He was due at work in six hours, however, and Shaun wasn't back for another two.

Heaving himself out of bed, Desmond left the bedroom and padded his way over to Shaun's laptop, having guessed the other man's password almost immediately—_notpassword_, having been thought up to keep out idiots. Desmond rolled his eyes and typed it in, opening the Internet when it loaded.

Hurriedly, he typed in "lack of sleep" into Google and clicked the corresponding Wikipedia article, Sleep Deprivation. His eyes skimmed over the page, until "Psychological Effects" caught his eye. He could feel his heart sinking lower and lower with every word

Apparently, lack of sleep could lead to aching muscles, confusion, memory lapses or loss, depression, hallucinations, hand tremors, headaches, sensitivity to cold, bloodshot eyes, increased blood pressure, increased stress hormone levels, increased risk of diabetes, and irritability, among a large list of other things.

The next ten words were life-shattering: _long-term total sleep deprivation has caused death in lab animals_.

Desmond stared at that sentence for a long time. Death. He was ten seconds away from a panic attack, when he looked up at the article's previous sentence, stating that complete sleep deprivation is impossible for humans to achieve. He breathed a large sigh of relief, rubbing his hand over his face. _It'll go away soon. _He was just being paranoid. Besides, as long as he had his sleeping pills, it didn't matter if he couldn't sleep.

Keys slid in the lock. Desmond perked up; Shaun wasn't supposed to be home for another two hours. Quickly, to get his bearings, he glanced at the clock, then did a double take. It was 8:30. He had completely blanked out for _two whole hours_.

Taking a shaky breath, Desmond shut down the laptop just as Shaun walked in the door. The former leaned back in his chair, then smiled at the Brit.

"Hey," he said casually.

Shaun just arched an eyebrow and strolled in, coming to stand beside the American. "What were you doing?" he asked neutrally.

Desmond shrugged. "Just looking."

"Was it about the fact that you've barely slept at all since moving in?"

Desmond turned his torso and gawped at Shaun. "Am I that readable?"

Shaun smiled shorty. "A little.

"But seriously, you've got to see a doctor or something. No sleep isn't good."

Desmond shook his head. "No worries. I've got some sleeping pills, and I just read that total lack of sleep in humans is physically impossible."

Shaun raised his eyebrows again. "Where? Show me."

The American shrugged, turned back to the laptop - an ultra-thin, ultra-sleek, and ultra-_expensive _MacBook Pro - and turned it on. He'd wondered how Shaun could afford these things, the professional laptop and renovations that "cost a fortune", but he didn't ask.

When the laptop had booted up, he went back to the Wikipedia article. Shaun _hmm_ed when he saw the website, but just leaned over his boyfriend's shoulder and read the corresponding sentence.

"...What's Fatal Familia Insomnia?" he asked quietly, indicating the link in parenthesis. "It says lack of sleep is impossible in humans _except _when the subject suffers from Fatal Familia Insomnia."

Desmond had seen it too, but he was deathly terrified to click the link. He didn't want to have anything to do with any disease containing "fatal" in its name, and especially didn't want to find out what would happen if he _was _affected with it.

"I don't have that," he laughed, trying to keep his panic smothered. "Come on. The worse illness I've had is chicken pox."

Shaun shrugged. "Okay. If you don't want to read it, you don't have to read it." He made his way into the kitchen and opened the pantry. "Hey, when's your birthday?" he asked casually, still rummaging.

"June twenty-fourth," Desmond replied, equally casual, still staring at the computer. After no response was given, he turned to see Shaun gaping at him.

"...What?"

"Jesus _fuck_, Desmond! That's in three weeks!" Shaun wasn't angry, but he didn't look to pleased either.

"Um... So?" Desmond asked hesitantly. "My birthday isn't that big of a deal."

"Not that big of a deal?" the other man demanded. "Of _course _it's not that big of a deal! I just need to do something so I won't feel guilty about forgetting your birthday."

Desmond raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, _and _it's because I want to," Shaun admitted. "But don't start thinking you're high-and-mighty, you arrogant twat."

The American grinned. "That's what I thought."

* * *

><p><strong>Blegh, I feel bad making you wait so long for such a crappy chapter. But there's nothing you can do about it :3 Except, you know... not read it.<strong>


	17. Termination

**naien543: Ugh, don't remind me ;_; I cried at least four times playing _Revelations_.  
><span>Americana Psychotica<span>: Well here it is, and me being my failing self, it's been a month and it sucks :D But that doesn't mean you can't tell your friends about it... o3o Also, thanks _so much_ for reviewing like, all of my stories. I love you ;_;  
><span>BacklashWave1996<span>: It's sad because that's what I do... Anywho, thanks so much for your review, and I'm glad that you're enjoying my story 8D  
><span>Shikaxshake<span>: Why couldn't they have just let her live...? I'm actually so unbelievably depressed about it, it's kind of sad.  
><span>RavingSunshine<span>: I KNOW ;_; It makes me so sad, and I don't know why. She wasn't even that great of a character, but she's become my favourite - hard to believe - nonetheless. I feel bad about turning her into a bitch. But don't worry, no _Revelations _spoilers for me.**

**Hugs from Shaun for:  
>-<span>Gina Davis<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Sylphix<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Phoenixlight13<span>, for adding myself to their author alert  
><strong>**-Americana Psychotica, for adding myself to their favourite authors  
>-<span>BacklashWave1996<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites, and for adding myself to their favourite authors  
>-<span>passable dream<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>PinkFreud1<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>Asauna<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>TacoWolf<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>gosai-girl<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>blueshirtmedic<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>LostShadowSoul<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>ReiNixonJ<span>, for adding this story to their alert**

**It seriously escapes me why so many of you are in love with this story. But I'm not complaining, so continue to review to let me know how many of you are crazy o3o**

**I kid. I love you all so much it's not even funny.**

* * *

><p><em>And I'll survive<br>Paranoid, I have lost the will to change  
>And I'm not proud<br>Cold-blooded fate  
>I will shut the world away<br>_-**Breaking Benjamin**'s I Will Not Bow

* * *

><p>Three hours later, after a dinner of cheeseburgers, cooked by Chef Shaun himself, Desmond pulled up in front of Dusk, stepping off his bike onto the curb. To his surprise, the bright lights above its windows were shut off and barely any lights were on inside, but he brushed it off. He was too tired to care about it anyway.<p>

Barely even registering his actions, Desmond moved towards the door, ready to take the route he took nearly every time he came to Dusk - open the door, stroll to the bar like a boss, relieve whoever was working - but was caught off guard. He stared for a few seconds, dumbfounded, when the door didn't give against the pull of his hand. The front door was _never _locked during hours.

Seriously concerned now, Desmond pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, slipping inside the dark restaurant silently.

Six people stood by the bar. Six people you wouldn't see together unless something was seriously wrong, or there was a party. And judging by the looks on their faces, something was wrong.

As soon as Desmond walked in, Lucas strode up to him, face tight, and clasped the other man's shoulder. Desmond looked past him at Pete, Amanda, Tracy, Mike, Rachel, and Kyle. The men had somber expressions on their face, and Amanda and Rachel had tears running down their faces.

Lucas moved to the side as Desmond walked quickly over to the bar. "What's going on?" He couldn't believe he even had to ask.

No one answered for a few seconds while Desmond looked around, anxious. Finally Amanda look a deep breath and replied, not looking at him, "We're closing."

"_What_?" he demanded, then whipped around to Pete, on the verge of a meltdown. "Peter?"

Pete's age - forty-five - was evident more than ever now that he wasn't smiling. Whenever Desmond saw him, his boss was always cheerful, making jokes.

"It's true," the middle-aged man said quietly. "Dusk is dead."

Desmond's first thought was _No. _It just wasn't possible. In his shock, he stumbled backward until his back thudded against the smooth wooden bar. He stared straight ahead, unseeing, mind pulsing with blackness.

He didn't even know why he was taking this so harshly. People lost their jobs all the time, and he wasn't even the one who had worked here the longest. Hell, Peter _founded _the place.

"Desmond..." Amanda stepped closer, in an effort to comfort him.

"Oh yeah," the brunet announced, quite loudly to the men and women in front of him, words tumbling out of his mouth of their own accord. "I'm gay, did anyone know that? I have a boyfriend, and I _love him_." Without waiting for any kind of reaction - not that he wanted one - Desmond turned on his heel and pushed past the people he had once considered friends, emerging into the warm spring night. He leaned his hands against his motorcycle for a few seconds, bowing his head, taking deep breaths.

"Desmond!" Amanda burst out of the door behind him, causing him to wince. Slowly, he straightened up and faced her.

"...What?" he asked after a heartbeat or two of silence. After half a second's hesitation, Amanda threw herself into his arms.

Surprised, Desmond awkwardly wrapped his arms around her. Her head was against his chest, and he could feel her shaking with sobs.

"Amanda?" he asked quietly. "I... think you should let go."

The brunette sniffed and slowly moved backwards. "Sorry." She laughed quietly, awkwardly. "I just..." She sighed. "What am I going to do? I don't want to leave," she whispered, then turned around, toward her former workplace. "This was my life."

Wanting to get out of an awkward situation that could only get more awkward, Desmond hurriedly pulled his helmet on, then started his motorcycle. He felt bad for leaving, but she'd get over it. Just before he sped off, Amanda spun around at the sound of his bike. The hurt in her eyes was unescapable.

* * *

><p><em>Sleep, sleep, <em>Desmond willed himself as he rolled over yet again. He'd already taken five sleeping pills; any more would probably kill him. However, the worry clawing at his heart, coupled with his brutal insomnia, was keeping his dry eyes wide open.

When he'd gotten into the apartment, he didn't wake Shaun to inform him of his unemployment. He didn't contact _anyone_. He didn't even get changed, just collapsed under the sheets.

Desmond curled himself into a ball under the blankets, nestling his head near his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut, scrunching up his face, then choked out a sound that was half pain, half frustration. He was fed up with just laying here, and it had only been an hour.

Shaun was breathing gently next to him. Desmond felt a flash of jealousy as he uncurled himself and poked his head into fresh air. Why was it that the Brit was able to sleep, but not him? Why did Shaun get to escape his life each night? Why not Desmond?

The ex-bartender huffed, trying not to scream with frustration, then gently slid out of bed and padded into the living room, not making a sound. Despite the lack of light - the only brightness came from the streetlights fourteen stories below - he found he could see quite well, as he had always been able to.

Sighing heavily, thoroughly hating nighttime, Desmond grabbed his keys off the table and headed out the door. He needed some air.

* * *

><p>He just couldn't understand it. Speeding down nearly-empty roads, Desmond was astonished how much he had changed in so little time. Nighttime used to be <em>his <em>time, the time when he served drinks, did his job and was good at it. Yet here he was, hating nights with all his heart, and no job to top things off.

Pole after pole whizzed past, and Desmond was once again tempted to crush himself against one of them. He had never before realized how frustrating, how unbelievably heart-wrenching, it was to just lay there, so tired your eyes were about to fall out, and yet unable to sleep.

Being on his bike helped, though. It always did whenever he was feeling off. Desmond signalled and slid easily into the lane next to his, not even sure why he turned on his blinker. There were maybe three other cars going the same direction he was, and none were close enough to care whether he changed lanes or not.

Shaking his head, Desmond pulled over randomly, not looking up, and checked his phone. No messages, although it was two in the morning, so who the fuck was awake? Besides him.

"Desmond?" Said brunet jerked his head up at the sound of his name. The first thing he noticed was that he had somehow pulled over in front of Dusk - joy - whose lights were all off. It looked empty and lifeless, just like he felt.

"Hey?" A face was in front of his. Desmond blinked, startled somehow, as he recognized Rebecca, Mel peeking over her shoulder.

"Uh... yeah," he muttered, pulling his helmet off and breathing fresh air. Well, as fresh as New York City air could get.

Rebecca smiled and seemed to visibly relax as she leaned backwards. "What's up?"

"Um..." He couldn't concentrate, for some reason. He made a small noise of frustration, then finally responded. "Just going out."

Rebecca either didn't notice his aggravation or just didn't sat anything; she kept talking. "At two in the morning?"

He gave her a sideways glance; his eyes had been on the pavement. "I could ask you two the same thing."

"We figured we'd hit the town." Rebecca winked, then jerked her thumb at Mel. "This one just wants to go to a bar, but _I _need some good old fashioned partying. Isn't that right, darling?" she asked mockingly, leaning toward her girlfriend.

Mel waved her off, giggling. "Why is it never about what I want?" She was joking, of course. Desmond, normally so laid back about his friend's romantics, found himself wanting to vomit.

"But _Mellory_," Rebecca half-whined, using Mel's full name and stretching it out in a plea.

Her girlfriend laughed. "Okay, okay." She then turned looked at Dusk. "Hey, this is where you work, isn't it?"

Desmond didn't reply, just grunted noncommittally, not wanting to say anything.

"It looks so empty..." Mel finally commented.

"That's because it is," Desmond muttered.

"Why?" Mel turned back to him. "Are you not open on Fridays?"

Rebecca _tch_ed. "That doesn't seem very profitable."

Desmond sighed deeply. "It's closed."

"Why not open on Fridays?" Mel had turned back to the restaurant. "You'd probably make more money than it'd cost to be open."

"Because Dusk is _closed_. Forever!" Desmond half-shouted, feeling fed up with his life. "How is that so hard to grasp?"

Rebecca was looking at him with a shocked expression, and Mel turned slowly back around, looking more concerned than anything else. "You... lost your job?" she asked softly. She furrowed her brow and seemed to stare right into him with her dark eyes.

Quickly pulling his helmet on, Desmond managed a forced "Night" before he shot away, wanting nothing to do with anyone.

* * *

><p><strong>Merry Christmas from A Beautiful Oblivion!<strong>


	18. Bliss

**izayaspenis: Dude, you're hilarious. Why aren't you writing this instead of me? D:  
><span>Americana Psychotica<span>: Me? Leading up to something? PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF- I just write whatever I feel like. If you're looking for witty plots, you should leave now o.o  
><span>wolf-demon39<span>: Thanks! I must say that _Revelations_ has very much changed my view on DesLucy... No spoilers here, but let's just say I wish there would be more canon stuff ;_; Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter :D  
><span>Zarek Magnus Malfoy<span>: Aww, she said she would but I didn't believe her. Good to see she did :D Thanks for the review, and I'm really glad you like it ^^**

**Big thanks to:  
>-<span>izayaspenis<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites, and for adding myself to their favourite authors  
><strong>**-wolf-demon39, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Zarek Magnus Malfoy<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>MaxWingz<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>LourvelyLynn<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>AnswerTalker<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Locoface<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites, and for adding myself to their favourite authors**

**For those of you that are wondering, but why would you be wondering anyway, I used to suffer from insomnia as a child. IT WASN'T FUN, I TELL YOU. I find it easy to write Desmond at night because I experienced the same thing.**

* * *

><p><em>I'm drinking by myself<br>I know I'm going down  
>But will you pick me up?<br>__Or will you leave me on the_ ground?  
><em>-<em>**Three Days Grace**'s Running Away

* * *

><p>At around two-thirty, Desmond somehow ended up at a bar. He didn't remember ordering his first drink, but soon he was up to twelve shots of straight vodka, downing them then sucking the dregs out of the shot glasses. The liquor burned a fiery path down his throat, making him feel more awake than he had in weeks.<p>

After his fifteenth or so shot, however, Desmond felt the alcohol catching up to him, and began to feel so dizzy that he thought he'd fall out of his stool. The bartender just shook his head as the man across from him demanded another shot.

"No, you've had enough," he said, almost sadly, his voice full of something that sounded like pity. Desmond was too drunk to care. He pounded his shot glass on the counter, screaming for more, because he _needed _more, until the glass shattered in his hand, slicing his palm and two of his fingers open. Hot blood spilled out, but Desmond didn't feel any pain, just a numbing sensation as blood ran down his hand. The bartender and a few patrons hurried over, concerned, but Desmond pushed them away, staining their clothes with bloody handprints.

"Hey, we've gotta get you to a hospital," a man was saying.

"No," Desmond muttered. "Call Shaun..." He pulled his phone out, smudging its screen with blood, but he couldn't seem to focus on the words. He made it to his contacts before he blacked out.

* * *

><p>When Desmond awoke, he was still in the bar; however, he was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood with a pounding headache. He turned his head to see people milling about: patrons, the bartender, and paramedics. Paramedics? Someone must've called an ambulance. But why were they ignoring him? He could feel the pain in his hand, a sign that no one had touched it.<p>

Desmond held it up. He was wrong; someone had stitched it up and bandaged it. Still, he was wondering what exactly had happened when a face appeared in his vision. Anything close-up was blurry, so he couldn't see who it was at first until they started talking.

"Awake, are we?" Of course, it was Shaun. His voice betrayed a mixture of pity, anger, and exhaustion.

A moan escaped Desmond's lips; he couldn't help it. His head hurt and now he felt ashamed. Why was Shaun here? What had happened.

"What's going on?" Desmond asked, running his left hand over his face. Feeling stupid for lying on the ground, he sat up, ignoring the splitting pain as his head protested.

Shaun was squatting next to him, hair a mess and glasses crooked. "From what I gathered, you came in here and demanded alcohol. You owe me thirty-five dollars, by the way; I paid for them.

"Then," he went on. "After drinking more than you could handle, you smashed a glass into your hand, said something about calling me, then passed out."

Desmond sighed. "I'm sorry."

The historian just shook his head. "You can only say sorry so many times."

There was a brief pause, and before Desmond could collect his tumbling thoughts enough to form an acceptable sentence, Shaun took him by the arm. "Let's get you home."

* * *

><p>Car ride. There was no way they could take his bike, and after the paramedics had taken his money and written him off as okay, the two men had gotten into Shaun's car, a grey 2011 GMC Acadia.<p>

Desmond kept his cheek pressed against the cool glass for most of the ride. It had started to rain; he watched individual drops run down the window, then looked past them when it started to hurt his eyes.

"What were you thinking?" Shaun asked him, not nearly harsh enough, causing the American to moan and slump his head.

"Don't," he muttered. "Just... don't."

"Don't _what_, Desmond?" Shaun demanded, his voice rising as he turned right. The force of the turn lifted Desmond off the window for a split second.

"Don't ask me!" Desmond's voice sounded surprisingly harsh, even to his own ears. "You don't think I feel ashamed enough already? I_know_what I did wrong, so don't try and lecture me!" He glared out the window.

There was no response. Only a small sigh.

* * *

><p>As soon as the car stopped in front of their building, Desmond opened the door and stepped out. He couldn't stand just sitting there.<p>

His body disagreed with him, however; as soon as he straightened out, he felt the bile rising in his throat. Unable to stop it, he bent over and vomited right on the sidewalk. He just kept heaving and heaving until there was nothing left, and even then he was coughing like mad. The rain was cooling on the back of his neck, and it ran down the sidewalk, thinning out the vomit and washing it down the road.

He was aware of a hand rubbing his back. When he'd finished puking his stomach up, Desmond raised his head slowly and saw Shaun by the light of the streetlamps, who couldn't mask the pity in his eyes. Shaun loved him, no matter what either of them said.

"Is this... a better time... to say how sorry I am?" Desmond panted, then managed a weak grin, rain soaking and cooling his face.

"Come on, inside," Shaun ordered, pulling the American up. There was nothing cold about the way the former half-led, half-carried the latter into the building, however, so Desmond smiled despite his pain and allowed himself to be dragged toward the elevator.

"Ugh," Shaun grunted as the doors closed, propping Desmond against a wall. "Seriously, how much do you weigh?"

Desmond just grinned, causing Shaun to take a sideways glance as he pushed the 14. "Why're you so happy?"

"Because you love me," Desmond responded simply, feeling his heart fluttering with joy as he said it.

Expecting a sarcastic reply, he was stunned when Shaun smiled and lightly touched the American's cheek. "No amount of idiocy is ever going to change that."

"Funny."

"Just don't vomit on my hardwood."

Desmond laughed, then stood fully as the elevator doors opened. He attempted to walk into the hallway, but nearly threw up again as dizziness overtook him.

"Here." Shaun appeared beside him, letting the American lean on him. Slowly, they moved together down the hall until they reached the apartment. Shaun opened the door, led Desmond in and lowered him on the couch, then went back to the door to close it.

"So." Shaun sat down next to him. "Want to tell me _why _you were trying to kill yourself?"

Desmond leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. There was a lot he had to say; how he'd been fired, his lack of sleep, the way the vodka made him feel like he was actually alive.

"Okay," he tried to begin, but he just didn't know where to start.

He tried again. "You remember when you slept at Rebecca's?"

"Last week?"

"And I told you about my dream. Well, ever since then... I haven't been sleeping."

"I knew that. You told me."

Desmond sighed, frustrated. "You don't get it! You don't know what it's like, to just lie there and not be able to fall asleep!"

"...You're being kind of melodramatic about this, aren't you?"

"_What_?" Desmond's head shot up, and he glared at the man sitting next to him.

Shaun just blinked, then adjusted his glasses. "No sleep? It doesn't seem like that much of a deal. Besides, it'll go away soon."

As if on cue, Desmond's head exploded in pain, throbbing with every beat of his heart. This just made him more irritated. "You... agh... You're honestly unbelievable!" He winced, then cupped the side of his face in his hand, pressing his fingertips to his temple. It helped a little. "And it wasn't _just_ that." He suddenly felt the need to be defensive. "I was drinking because the alcohol made me feel awake! You don't see it, but my eyes are ready to fall out! I'm so tired, I can barely think. I'm getting..." He moaned. "I'm getting these _huge _headaches. It's hard to focus. That blackout was the most rest I've gotten since moving in!"

Shaun seemed relatively unfazed. "Have you tried sleeping pills?"

"Of _course _I've tried sleeping pills! My body's..." He waved his hand. "My body adjusted to them or something. It only worked for one night."

There was a couple second's silence, in which Desmond examined his stitches, then he said softly, "I got fired."

"Oh God, Desmond." He looked up; Shaun was rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "What did you do?"

It occurred to Desmond that he should be angry, but he brushed it off - no need in starting yet another argument - and replied, "Nothing." He sighed. "Pete closed Dusk."

"Look on the bright side; it won't be that hard for you to find a job. I mean, there's got to be hundreds of..." He trailed off at Desmond's expression.

"Well, _excuse me_, I suppose working at a motorcycle dealer is some sort of an exclusive job?"

Shaun blanched. "Stop it. You know how I feel about that."

"Go get the job you wanted then! You have the degree; what's holding you back?" His head started to pound again.

Shaun opened his mouth to shoot back a retort, but at that moment Desmond's phone began to ring. Not liking where the conversation was going and glad for a distraction, the American pulled it out. It was Lucy. Quickly debating between fighting with Shaun and maybe having an issue with Lucy, he chose the latter and answered.

"What do you want?" he hissed.

A singsong voice floated through his eat. "Guess who's pregnant!"

* * *

><p><strong>I HERD YOU LIKE CLIFFHANGERS SO HERE'S A HUGE ONE FOR YOU TO NOM ON.<strong>


	19. Dispute and Dear Diary, Episode 3point5

**Ginger Katt: Indeed o3o  
><span>LourvelyLynn<span>: Oh, that'd be far too easy, wouldn't it? But thanks, and I'm glad you like my story!  
><span>_<span>: Look at you and your lack of a username.  
><span>BacklashWave1996<span>: U mad bro? -insert troll face here-  
><span>izayaspenis<span>: LOL, ew. Vomit grosses me out to no extent, too :D It's funny, though: I can't stand the Lucy _I _created, but the real Lucy is one of my favourite characters.  
><span>Zarek Magnus Malfoy<span>: Hehehehe. It seems a lot of people aren't too happy with me at the moment :3  
><span>Americana Psychotica<span>: If I could get everyone to love me just because I update, it would solve a lot of my problems o3o Aren't my stories just sooooo much fun? :D  
><span>solar hyperdrive<span>: Muhahahaha. I love making people rage c: Thank you!  
><span>gosai-girl<span>: It's not that easy to get rid of Lucy. Also, PEER PRESSURE IS BAD. -updates anyway-**

**Big thanks to:  
><strong>**-wooqy, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>Ivanknovv<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites, and for adding myself to their author alert and favourite authors  
>-<span>sarang-ai<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Seginus-Snape<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>Scar-kun<span>, for adding this story to their alert**

**IT WAS MY FREAKIN' BIRTHDAY ON TUESDAY. I GOT MY FREAKIN' LICENSE. I DROVE A FREAKIN' CAR. An eventful week for me :3 But you guys don't care, I bet you've been tearing your hair out waiting for this chapter. Well, probably not. But I can dream :D**

* * *

><p><em>Why didn't she tell me?<br>Where do I go tonight?  
>This isn't happening to me<br>This can't be happening to me!  
><em>-**Three Days Grace**'s Last to Know

* * *

><p>Shaun must've seen the total shock and utter hopelessness in his boyfriend's face, so he urgently mouthed, "What?" But Shaun was the last thing on Desmond's mind.<p>

How could this have happened? He knew _how _it happened of course, but it was so unbelievable he just couldn't comprehend it.

Mouth dry, he croaked out, "Are you... serious?"

"Oh, I wouldn't joke about that," Lucy replied simply. There was a click, and the line went dead.

Slowly, Desmond lowered his phone and stated at the dried blood smudged on its screen numbly. He was in total shock; Lucy was _pregnant_.

"Desmond?" Shaun shook his shoulder. "What the hell? Who was that?"

The American opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His voice wouldn't work. He cleared his throat, then managed, "Lucy—"

"That bitch again?" Shaun hissed. "What's she want _now_? I might just call her and give her a piece of my mind—!"

Desmond turned his head toward his boyfriend. "She's pregnant," he breathed.

Shaun stopped mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. His eyes widened significantly, then he closed them and shook his head. "No, that can't be true. You've seen what she's capable of; it's very likely that she's just telling you just to torture you."

"You don't know her though. Sure, she hates my guts, but if there's one thing she's serious about, it's pregnancy." Desmond heaved a sigh, then slowly got to his feet, feeling like his bones were made of lead.

"Where are you going?" Shaun demanded.

"I've got to go see her." It was his worst nightmare coming true—if he'd had any recently. He had to go speak to Lucy again, _and _he was going to be a daddy. Pile that on top of the not sleeping, the being fired, his pounding headache, and the pain in his hand, his life was just about as worse as it could get.

Knock on wood.

"Well you're sure as hell not going alone." Shaun rose as well. "And don't try and tell me otherwise; you're in no state to drive regardless."

His eyes on the floor, Desmond nodded.

* * *

><p>"Turn here," Desmond said softly. Shaun didn't reply, just nodded and pulled his vehicle to the right. The headlights cut a path through the sheets of rain that soaked the windshield faster than the wipers could clear it, and wind howled outside their windows. The car moved slowly, Shaun's visibility severely lessened by the weather.<p>

"Just park on the street; it won't be long."

"All right." Shaun turned to him once the car was shut off. "What exactly do you plan on doing?"

Desmond shrugged. "I have absolutely no idea. I just need to see her."

Something flashed in Shaun's eyes - jealousy? - then he nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

"Um..." Desmond looked at his hand, at his stitches. "I need to go alone." He glanced up. "Sorry."

"Oh, don't worry about me." Shaun's voice was sharp. "I'll just be here to give you a ride, hmm? Like your own personal chaperone? Or perhaps a limo driver? You Americans seem quite fond of those."

"That's not what—"

The historian shook his head. "It's fine." There was still a bite in his voice. "Go."

Deciding he couldn't deal with this now, Desmond stepped out and was soaked instantly. As he walked up to the building, Desmond guessed that Shaun wasn't too happy with the American visiting his ex-girlfriend, especially not now. To make matters worse, he was going alone.

As he reached the door, Desmond had the sudden urge to run back to the van, beg Shaun to be with him. He turned slightly, and the Acadia was gone. Seething that Shaun would abandon him, Desmond pounded the five-fourteen.

"Hello?" Lucy's voice sounded above the rain. Desmond was surprised she'd answered so quickly; it was really no time to be awake. However, she'd called him just half an hour ago, so she should have been up still.

"It's me. Let me in; we need to talk."

"Oh, _hello _Desmond," she practically purred. "Come right up."

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, June 2nd, 2012 4:46 AM<strong>

_Dear Diary,_

_Dammit. I am such a self-centred, selfish prick I can't even be there for the one person I love in my life._

_I know there's nothing going on with Lucy, I _know_ that Desmond hates her about as much as one man can hate another person, but my heart doesn't seem to get the message. I can't help thinking that he still has feelings for her for some reason. Hell, I've _seen _the hatred in his eyes whenever he mentions her. But before I knew it, I was driving. Away._

_I pulled over and I'm writing this because I need to get my feelings straight. I've re-read what I put down, and I can't help but notice what little sense it makes. I'm a terrible person._

_I have to go back. But I'm not sure I can._

* * *

><p>In the elevator, it was all Desmond could do to stay upright. He was still drunk, there was no denying that, and he had to lean up against the wall and focus on his reflection in one of the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling mirrors in the ascending box. He didn't look too good; his hair, though short, still managed to stick up and look messy, there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and his face reflected the hopelessness that he felt inside. For the first time in hours, he finally checked his watch: it was nearly five in the morning.<p>

Desmond moaned aloud and slammed his head back into the hard surface of the mirror behind him, not really caring what would happen. Nothing much did, except now his headache was even worse on top of everything else.

The third floor came far too quickly. Slowly, Desmond emerged into the predictably-empty hall. Like the apartment he'd formerly called home, the hallway too was handsomely designed, with an interior decorator who'd had good taste, and no doubt a large check in his pocket he couldn't wait to cash.

Desmond stumbled to the door of apartment five. Lucy'd always said that when she turned thirty-five she'd match her room number, but then quickly contradicted herself by wondering _why_ anyone would _ever _want to be over thirty.

"It's going to happen sometime," Desmond growled aloud as he raised an arm that felt like lead and knocked - quite loudly - on the door. "So get used to it." He steeled himself.

The polished wood door swung inward. "Desmond!" Lucy purred. She stood in the doorway, glistening and naked. Though small, there was a very visible bump in her stomach, probably the reason why she wasn't wearing any clothes.

"Oh God!" Desmond held up his right hand in front of the face, palm out, to block his view. "Can you _please _put some clothes on?"

"Well, that'd ruin the fun," Lucy looked crestfallen, but she pulled on a silk robe anyway. "What happened to your hand, poor little Dessy?"

Desmond looked at the stitches and snorted. "None of your business.

"I can see you weren't lying, though."

"Of course not," Lucy replied simply "I don't lie, unlike some _others_." She pronounced the last word heavily, and he knew exactly who she was directing at.

Choosing not to take the bait, Desmond instead got right to the point. "Look, about this... thing. I'm really not planning on being a 'daddy' anytime soon, so—"

"Oh, there's no guarantee it's yours." Lucy looked at him evenly, judging his reaction.

"So if... Wait, what?" Desmond did a double-take. "You've got to be at least..." He shot a quick glance. "...Three months into this, how could it not be mine?" He'd never even considered the possibility of not becoming a father. He never even bothered to ask.

"You think I could have sex with just _one_ person for a whole year?" Lucy barked out a short laugh. "I don't think so. Oh, and I don't suppose _you _never cheated?"

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do in a relationship?" Desmond felt totally confused, which made him defensive. "Somehow manage to restrain yourself from having sex with everything you see?"

"_Fidelity_? Ha! That's overrated." Lucy waved a hand dismissively. "Now, why are you here?"

"Just... call me if it's mine, okay? Otherwise I don't want to see you ever again." Desmond attempted to sound threatening, and apparently it didn't work.

"Ooh, I'm scared now." Then she laughed. "I'll call. Just go." Before he knew it, Desmond was facing a closed door.

And despite everything, he couldn't help wondering whether he'd be walking home.

* * *

><p><strong>So I need an editor. I've been looking back at chapters and sometimes my spelling isn't too great. I'm also <em>super<em> paranoid about continuity, so yeah. Basically, if you're interested send me a PM. The only thing I need to know is your time zone so I can tell how far apart we are in terms of time. You should probably also know the basic premise of the story (storyline, dates, addresses, etc.) as well as have a flexible schedule. If I can't reach my editor, the chapter's going up whether it's full of mistakes or not c:**

**What's in it for you? Not much. You'll get to read the chapter before everyone else, though! That's something, eh?**

**Also, sorry for the shortness of this one and the longness of the wait. ^^;**


	20. Walk

**Americana Psychotica: Weren't we all? xD Also, you stalk me? Well, you're disappointed, aren't you? It's been nearly two months... -dies-  
><span>PancaekPirate<span>: Oh, you! Thanks 8D  
><span>izayaspenis<span>: I know, Shaun's snappiness against Lucy's bitchiness. Who'd win?  
><span>Backlashwave1996<span>: Haha, you and me both xD I don't even know what I've created... What have I done? D:  
><span>gosai-girl<span>: Pfft, you make me laugh. You think I pay attention to proper writing techniques? I'm sixteen, I'm doing this for fun, and I have no idea what it's like to be drunk. I kind of gave up on the attitude after he passed out, assuming that with his experience with alcohol and the time, he'd be over it. So, like, yeah. have I ever told you I hate being corrected? :3  
><span>LourvelyLynn<span>: Hah, good to see you enjoyed xD Thank you c:  
><span>Zarek Magnus Malfoy<span>: She's hard to hate and she's hard to love, but what're you gonna do? -shrug-  
><span>Frayfray115<span>: Well, good news for you because I haven't updated in decades! Also thanks for the compliment on my writing -less than three because FF doesn't like less than symbols-  
><span>RavingSunshine<span>: Woohoo for two month AWOL! Ffff, you've made me miss the real Lucy ;_; Thanks for the review, love c:**

**And thank you to:  
>-<span>Nani-1-9-5<span>, for adding this story to their favourites and alert, and for adding myself to their favourite authors  
>-<span>Fallinginloveatacoffeeshop<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Nyphera<span>, for adding this story to their favourites, and for adding myself to their favourite authors  
>-<span>WishesForFun<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>Frayfray115<span>, for adding myself to their favourite authors and author alert  
>-<span>RaxWhat<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Axel <span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>KuroiKitsuneTenchi666<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>KaitouKage<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Tenno-Megumi<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>Chris Valentine<span>, for adding this story to their favourites and alert, and for adding myself to their favourite authors  
><strong>

**So, um, yeah. I really have no explanation for the two-month hiatus. Go ahead and hit me D:**

* * *

><p><em>And after midnight we're all the same<br>No glass shoe to bring us fame  
>Nobody to take the blame<br>We're falling apart  
><em>-**The Birthday Massacre**'s Kill the Lights

* * *

><p>Shaun slammed the heel of his palm against the steering wheel, seething at himself.<p>

"Bloody fucking _moron_!" he hissed over the sound of the rain drumming on his SUV. "You will drive your ass back there _right _now, then get on your knees and hope to God Desmond forgives you!"

And yet, he just sat there. Leaned his head back against the leather headrest and couldn't get out of his mind how tired he was. Then he cursed himself (_twat_) for being so selfish. Desmond couldn't sleep at all, and here he was, complaining about having to get up! Glanced at his watch, noticed it was nearly five in the morning, cursed himself wearily one more time, then surrendered to the blackness pushing down on his brain.

_I just need to rest my eyes for a few minutes..._

* * *

><p>No Shaun. And it was dark out and pouring. Desmond stood under the veranda of the building for what seemed like hours, then gave up and pulled his hood up, beginning the long walk home.<p>

Of course this would happen to him. Of all the seven billion people on this planet, it had to be Desmond dumped with the misfortune, Desmond who couldn't sleep, Desmond who might be a father with the one person he hated most, Desmond whose boyfriend ditched him in the rain to walk home at five in the morning. Just perfect.

He considered calling Rebecca, or even Mel. But the last thing he wanted was a hundred questions or people feeling sorry for him, so his phone stayed put in his pocket.

Surprisingly, he found he wasn't mad at Shaun. He was far too tired to feel anything other than exhaustion. He supposed that if everything had been normal, he'd have been ticked, if only about the fact that he had to walk all the way home in the dark and the rain. As he passed cars parked in the street, Desmond considered for half a second breaking into one of them and driving himself home, having a shower, at least lying down if not, hopefully, getting some actual sleep. But getting himself arrested wasn't going to help anyone, so Desmond continued to trudge on, not even caring anymore about his wet socks, the hoodie that was soaked through to his skin, the fact that his teeth were chattering despite the fact it was June. His nose began to run, and he sneezed a few times. Perfect, on top of _everything _else he was sick now.

But he trudged on, hood pulled low over his face and praying that no one could see him.

By now it was beginning to grow lighter, and Desmond could see the silhouette of a bus down the road. A sudden, carnal urge to throw himself under that bus passed through him so strongly that he actually stopped walking. Half a second later and he was standing at the edge of the road, only one more step to take him into the path of the bus.

_Just wait until it's at that streetlight,_ he thought, eyes flicking to a lamp post about ten feet to his right. _Then the driver won't have time to react. He won't be able to slow down. It won't hurt._

The bus barrelled down on him. It was almost at the light. Desmond prepared himself and was about to step out, when—

Shaun entered his mind. A stern-faced Shaun, but Shaun all the same.

It was if someone had hit him in the chest. Desmond stopped, gasping for air, and the bus whizzed past him, buffeting him with a foul-smelling wind.

A few seconds later, what he'd just done registered in his mind and he turned abruptly, stumbling down the road in the direction of his apartment. Maybe. He didn't really care where he was going any more.

* * *

><p>Somehow, after dry heaving a few more times on the way, Desmond ended up back at his building. It was now six thirty.<p>

He stopped at the entrance and puked into a bush whatever his stomach managed to cough up, then unlocked the door and let himself in, leaning on the wall of the elevator once he got in.

Anger was too complex of an emotion for him right now; all he felt was confusion. All he wanted to know was _why _Shaun had left. He just wanted an explanation.

The elevator _ping_ed as it reached the fourteenth floor and the doors slid open. Slowly, Desmond removed himself from the wall and stepped out.

"Well look who it is." David was leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed.

"David," Desmond said wearily. "What the _fuck _are you doing out here? It's six thirty in the morning."

"I have a job, for your information," David snapped, then took a step off the wall. "Out of my way."

Desmond was too exhausted to argue, although a "please" would've been nice. Feeling utterly defeated, he turned his back on David and trudged down the hall.

It felt like forever. He'd been walking for so long, the hallway should've felt like nothing, but he wanted to get to his room so badly it never seemed to end.

There was a moment of panic at the door when Desmond thought he'd forgotten his keys, but there they were in his pocket. He fumbled to get them in the lock; there seemed to be two keyholes.

He shook his head vigorously, the two keyholes became one, and he unlocked the door.

It was so warm in here. Gratefully, Desmond removed his damp hoodie and tossed it on a couch. Moving into the bedroom, he took of his pants and fell into bed in his boxers and a t-shirt.

And he lay there. Staring at the ceiling, the open window that really should've been closed. He should get up and close it. He didn't move.

The ceiling was beginning to infuriate him. Desmond closed his eyes and attempted to get into a comfortable position under the sheets. His mind began to wander.

Not surprisingly, he thought about Shaun, wanting nothing more but to know where his boyfriend was. Why had he left?

His thoughts drifted to Lucy. This was all her fault. _Why_ did she have to have a functioning uterus?

He began to imagine a scene in which the two of them were walking down a flight of stairs. A simple movement of Desmond's arm, and she was falling, rather quickly, down the stairs. She landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom and didn't move.

Desmond smiled, his eyes still closed, and wasn't surprised about how happy that scenario made him.

And then, miraculously, he fell asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Guys, just thought I'd mention at the end because I fail, but we've hit 100 reviews. I love you all <em>so<em> much, and I'm so grateful you're reading and liking my story. Please keep reviewing, it makes the Desmond I have chained up in my basement happy c:**


	21. Shove

**Americana Psychotica: Oh, don't worry. He's too much of a chicken to kill himself anyway... -hides-  
><span>Tenno-Megumi<span>: Wow, thank you! Of course he's going to wake up, he has to eventually xD  
><span>naien543<span>: Indeed 8D**

**Thank you to:  
>-<span>lost-dark-soul<span>, for adding this story to their favourites and alert  
><strong>**-DoctorNicotine, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>mamoru3193<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>Meepofawesome<span>, for adding this story to their favourites**

**So I felt I owed it to you guys for a fast update. It's short, but at least there's no two-month gap...**

* * *

><p><strong><strong>_Smashed on the pavement  
>Stunned in amazement<br>Everything you make comes crawling back to you_

_You can't believe it  
>You didn't mean it<br>But they saw you do it and they know your name  
><em>-**Local H**'s Hands on the Bible

* * *

><p>"Wake up."<p>

A hand was lightly tugging at his shoulder. Desmond forced his tired eyes open to find Shaun kneeling in front of his face.

Frustration boiled over into anger, and Desmond rolled away. "Fuck off."

"I need to talk to you." It was spoken flatly, no emotion.

"Fuck!" Desmond bolted upright and glared at Shaun. "Do you have _any _idea how badly I've needed that sleep? Who knows when the next time I'll be able to will be?"

Shaun stared back at him, eyes hard.

"And another thing!" Desmond felt himself building up to rant, and was surprised at how good it felt. "How could you leave me last night? I had to _walk home _in the fucking rain! It took me an hour and a half!"

Shaun was definitely starting to look guilty; he bit his lip and shrunk back a little bit, avoiding eye contact. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

That wasn't going to be good enough. Although Desmond felt bad for yelling, he didn't give in. He jumped out of bed, yanked his pants on, and stalked out of the apartment, grabbing Shaun's keys as he left. The historian didn't follow.

* * *

><p>As Desmond drove - using Shaun's car - his anger boiled down into exhaustion. Again. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white against the dark leather.<p>

Next thing he knew he was in front of Lucy's apartment, knocking on the door.

_The fuck...? _He jerked his hand away and backed off. How'd he get here?

Too late. Lucy emerged, thankfully clothed this time, in black suit pants and a white sleeveless shirt, coming up to her neck.

"Can I help you?" she asked, sounding irritated, as he stood there.

"All right, I was just leaving, so if you're not here to do anything other than gawk—"

"Where're you going?" he heard himself ask. _What the actual _fuck _am I doing._

"Work." She eyed him, as if daring him to say something.

He didn't, instead asked, "Can I walk you down? I want to talk to you." Although he desperately wanted to know where Lucy was "working" - Stillmans didn't work, at least not the women - he didn't dare ask.

"All right," Lucy agreed, still looking extremely suspicious. She shut and locked her apartment door, and didn't protest when Desmond led her down the stairs rather than the elevator.

He was nervous. Sweaty, hands shaking, he walked in silence down a flight of steps until they turned a corner.

"So what exactly do you need to talk about?" Lucy asked, rather sharply, and that was all it took.

Desmond's hand shot out behind her, and he gave her a shove. It was much easier than he thought; Lucy's high heels were already making stairs difficult, do she slipped and went down with barely and effort on his part.

The sound was sickening. Lucy fell down an entire storey of stairs, twenty feet all the way down, making a _thump_ or a _crack _each time her arm or her head or her back slammed against a step. It was a dreadful, bone-crunching sound, and Desmond just stood and watched.

Worst of all were her screams. Each time her body impacted with the ground, Lucy let out a small cry, and it would've been better if she yelled her lungs out on the way down; at least she wouldn't sound so small.

At last, with a final _thud_, she hit the wall at the bottom of the stairs and stopped falling.

Desmond stood for ten seconds, waiting for movement, shocked to his core at what he had just done.

Slowly, he made his way down the steps, heart sinking lower as he got closer. He got on his hands and knees next to her head - her face was toward the other direction - and bit his lip. There was definitely blood in her hair.

"Lucy?" he whispered. Gently, he reached around and turned her head to face him.

"Shit" was the only word for it. Her nose was bloodied and most likely broken, there was a large wound on her forehead, and her eyes... They were wide, staring. That could only mean one thing.

Sure, he'd had a dream about it, but he never actually thought he'd _kill _his ex.

Gingerly, hesitantly, Desmond put his fingers on her neck. There was nothing, no movement and certainly no pulse.

Lucy was dead.

* * *

><p><strong>I swear, this idea came to me before I read <em>any <em>reviews about pushing Lucy down some stairs...**


	22. Realization

**ConnorKenway: Yes. Yes he did.  
><span>LourvelyLynn<span>: Why thank you dear 8D But don't miss _my _Lucy, she'll come back to haunt you.  
><span>AmericanaPsychotica<span>: OH U. -noms on cookies- I'm doing this all for you, you know ;)  
><span>Tenno-Megumi<span>: That's actually a really good pun xD Also, Desmond'll just hide in some hay or something, y'know.  
><span>Trolololol<span>: Love isn't about sex. That's my motto and I'm sticking to it. -is forever alone anyway-****  
><span>Margaret-Malfoy<span>: THIS IS THE BEST REVIEW EVER. It's so long and full of praise (I'm a narcissist) and I'm so glad you love my story and oh my gosh can I hug you? -squeezes- Thank you so so SO much for this! It makes me so happy to see a review like this because it lets me know that you liked my story enough to actually sit down and take the time to write that. Thank you thank you thank you C:  
><span>JacksterGamer<span>: Or maybe not far enough.  
><span>ToasterScribbles<span>: Oh good, that means I'm doing my job c:  
><span>RavingSunshine<span>: Pffft you. Apparently pushing someone down the stairs is a good way to kill someone O_o  
><span>Kitty<span>: I hate those stories where everything was just a dream... Spoiler alert, this isn't one.  
><span>wheatleyhastings<span>: Oh wow, thank you! I never knew I could make someone create an account _and _change their views on ShaunDes in one day 8D  
><span>Caroline Muller<span>: Well read slower next time xD It's not like he _meant_ to do it. Okay, he did, but it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, am I right? **

**And chocolate-covered thank yous to:  
>-<span>Future Dictator Inc<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>JacksterGamer<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites, and for adding myself to their author alert and favourite authors  
>-<span>Margaret-Malfoy<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>Spazzyninjafish<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>wheatleyhastings<span>, **for adding this story to their alert and favourites, and for adding myself to their author alert and favourite authors  
>-and <span>Caroline Muller<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites ****

* * *

><p><em>Please, please forgive me, but I won't be home again<br>Maybe someday you'll look out  
>And, barely conscious, you'll say to no one, "Isn't something missing?"<br>_-**Evanescence**'s Missing

* * *

><p>Desmond jerked his hand away and rose quickly. Hurriedly, he looked up the stairs, then down the next flight. No one was in sight, and there were no noises other than his own ragged breathing.<p>

He realized he was shaking. All the anger, the frustration, the pain, and the _shock _of the past few days came crashing down on him in the form of trembling limbs and sweaty palms.

Running his left hand through his hair, Desmond held it there and looked down at the body in front of him. He could feel the shakiness reverberating through his body like an earthquake.

"_Shit_," he muttered, panic creeping into his brain. He'd just _killed a person_!

The only rational thing to do was call Shaun. He'd know what to do. Desmond hoped to God he knew what to do, or else he was screwed three ways to Sunday.

* * *

><p>"Pick up," Desmond muttered, pacing. "How many times can your phone fucking ring before it goes to voicemail?" He'd lost count after twenty.<p>

"I seriously hope you didn't crash my car." Shaun's voice was neutral, making Desmond wince. It would've been better if he just yelled.

Deep breath. "A little worse than that." His voice dropped, making him sound small. "Lucy's dead."

There was a long pause. "Okay, mate, you're gonna need to give me a little more information than that."

Desmond exhaled deeply through his nose. "I pushed her down the stairs and she hit her head at the bottom. She has no pulse."

"Well that's more like it, isn't it then?" Shaun's voice had also silenced; he was barely whispering, obviously trying to hide his shock.

There was another pause, a shorter one. "Okay." He'd gotten his bearings back; stronger voice, confidence.

"Where are you?" And so the reconnaissance began.

"Her apartment building, the stairs. No one's coming, but I can't make any promises."

"Did anyone see you come in?"

"No."

"Anyone pass by you and Lucy on the stairs?"

"No."

"Is there _any _way anyone could tell she was pushed?"

Desmond looked down. He didn't know how anyone could in the first place. "I don't think so..."

"All right." Shaun launched right into his plan. "After I tell you this, you will hang up, then delete any record of this phone conversation from your phone. I will do the same.

"After that, you are to make _absolutely_ sure there is _no _evidence whatsoever of what you did. Got that?"

"Yeah..."

"Good. Once that's done, call 911."

"_What_?" Desmond was astounded. "Shaun, I'm pretty sure that the _last _thing I want is cops involved."

"Yeah, but you didn't let me finish." He sounded irritated.

"The _reason_ you are calling the police is to panic and scream hysterically to them that your friend just fell down the stairs. And _yes_," he snapped, somehow knowing Desmond would protest, "you will address her as your _friend_.

"Then just play nice for the police and for God's sake, _don't _do anything stupid."

"Uh..." Desmond was still a little stunned. "Right. Seriously, I'm shaking so hard I can barely hold this phone, and yet here _you _are, acting like you do this every day!" It was true; the historian barely took any time to assess the situation and asked minimal questions before launching into a full-scale plan. "You don't... do this every day, right?"

"Of course not," Shaun fired back. "I, unlike you, know how to keep my head in a rushed situation. Now stop stalling and call the police."

"When will you be here?" He didn't know that he could handle this alone. The one thing he really wanted right now was a hug.

"_Be there_?" Shaun demanded like it was some sort of federal offence. "How on _Earth_ would I know what happened if you didn't call me? Because, remember, _you didn't call me_."

"Okay, okay," Desmond muttered. "I just want to see you again."

"Don't worry." Shaun's tone softened considerably. "We'll be together soon."

"All right."

"Hang up, Desmond."

He did, deleting his call history as soon as the line went dead. Then, he paced around Lucy's body. She lay on her stomach, head facing toward the flight on stairs that lead down. As far as he could tell, there was no evidence on the back of her shirt that someone had pushed her.

Job done, Desmond took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves a small amount, then held up his phone. He pushed the _9_.

_Am I doing the right thing? _He was surprised to find he had doubts. After all, the alternative was life in prison.

_1_.

Sure, he'd always secretly wanted to kill Lucy, but didn't _everyone _fantasize about murdering their girlfriends at some point? And he was the only one twisted enough to go through with it.

_1_.

_I really did it. I really killed her. _Instead of feeling overwhelmingly guilty, Desmond felt extremely warm inside, the same feeling students got after fretting for a week about their exam mark to find out they'd passed.

He hit the green talk button, then held the phone to his ear. It rang once.

"911, what's your emergency?"

* * *

><p><strong>Yaaay, short chapter is short.<strong>

**And lame.**


	23. Longing

**Americana Psychotica: NOVICE. Here is your chapter. Enjoy it or I'll send Shaun after you...  
><span>Kitty<span>: Clearly, we wouldn't be here since this story wouldn't exist.  
><span>Wheatleyhastings<span>: Keeping his head cool when Desmond kills his ex-girlfriend? Check. Keeping his head cool when he calls Desmond for the first time? Not so much.  
><span>Halloween Night<span>: I've heard that song... And you're totally right xD  
><span>RavingSunshine<span>: Shhh, he likes to think that he's not a total psychopath... But I can honestly totally see her parents doing that xD  
><span>Caroline Muller<span>: He'd be totally fucked without Shaun... Desmond is not a good thinker in tight situations. And thank you so much!  
><span>Tenno-Megumi<span>: Oh, I know xD Unfortunately, Desmond was born with a consciousness... It really slows him down.**

**Thank you to:  
>-<span>ne123ko<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>Tenno-Megumi<span>, for adding this story to their favourites**

* * *

><p><em>God knows what is hiding in that world of little consequence<br>__Behind the tears, inside the lies:  
><em>_A thousand slowly dying sunsets_

_God knows what is hiding in those weak and drunken hearts  
><em>_I guess the loneliness came knocking  
><em>_No one needs to be alone  
><em>-**Birdy**'s People Help the People

* * *

><p>It was getting harder and harder for Desmond to understand his emotions lately. One minute, he felt so elated to be free of Lucy it made his heart soar. But then he'd really start to think about it, and his heart would be dragged down by tendrils of guilt and shame so heavy they made his chest physically hurt.<p>

He was pretty proud of his performance for the 911 operator. She'd completely bought it, calming him down when he'd started to cry hysterically and hyperventilate. The only catch was that he hadn't been faking it. He'd kept looking and looking at Lucy's body, and it finally hit him: she was gone because of him. Her brain was dead, and all the thoughts, memories, and emotions in its grey matter had disappeared. The pitiful waste of life had upset him so much he'd started panicking whilst on the phone.

Now he stood outside Lucy's building, watching as her body, wrapped in a black bag, was put in an ambulance. A young, slightly overweight female paramedic came up to him. Her lips moved but no noise came out.

Desmond blinked. "What?"

She tipped her head. "Would you like to ride in the ambulance? I need to ask you a few questions."

"Uh... sure."

She guided him to the back of the ambulance and he climbed in. She followed and closed the door behind him. The ambulance started to move. There were no sirens.

"I know this must be hard for you," the paramedic began, eyeing him as he stared down at the body bag.

"Not really," he heard himself say, glancing up at her name tag. She didn't have one.

She frowned, then glanced at the other paramedic. He just shrugged.

"Okay, well, my name's Jenn," she offered, voice raised uncharacteristically high in an attempt to sound friendly. "What's yours?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Desmond."

"All right, Desmond," Jenn chirped, smiling. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I already told the 911 operator."

Jenn's smile faded a little. "We sometimes don't get all that information. All we know is that she fell down the stairs." Smile was back. "Can you tell me how?"

"That's exactly what happened!" Desmond's voice rose. "What else can I tell you?"

Jenn glanced at her partner again, who was starting to look suspicious.

She smiled warmly again, showing her teeth. "Okay—"

"And why are you fucking _smiling_ so much?" Desmond burst out. "She's _dead_! D'you think that's funny?"

Jenn's eyes widened and the smile fell from her face so fast you'd think he'd dropped dead in front of her. "Look, we just need to know what happened," she said gently, reaching for him across Lucy's body. He jerked away, eyeing her suspiciously.

She swallowed, glancing yet again at her partner. Desmond was beginning to think she was new to this sort of thing.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "I know I couldn't possibly imagine what you're going through right now."

A hundred things ran through Desmond's mind, but he stayed quiet.

"But I need you to tell me what happened."

He shrugged. "We were walking down the stairs and she fell. Did you see the shoes she was wearing? It wasn't that hard."

Clamping his mouth shut, he looked warily at Jenn to see if she'd noticed his slip-up. _It _wasn't that hard_? You fucking idiot._

But she just nodded. "Is there anyone you think should be there when we get to the hospital?"

_Why the hospital? She's dead; no doctor can help her now. _"Her parents," Desmond whispered, then forced out their address.

Jenn nodded again. "Good."

* * *

><p>The clock sitting above the fireplace ticked, audible in the total silence enveloping Shaun and Desmond's living room.<p>

As soon as the paramedics gave him clearance to leave, Desmond had practically sprinted out the doors of the hospital, then bolted. He'd hid in an alley and immediately called Shaun. The problem was, neither of them had a car, so Desmond had been forced to walk from the hospital to Lucy's Madison Avenue apartment building.

The worst thing about walking were his thoughts. With no road to focus on, and coupled with the fact that things were moving by so slowly, the only thing Desmond could do was think. Think about what he'd done.

Thankfully, he'd left the hospital before Lucy's parents had arrived, so he didn't have to deal with them, but picturing their anguished faces in his head was enough. He'd driven back to Shaun's apartment as fast as he could upon reaching the car.

Desmond had flung open the door to his apartment, where Shaun was waiting. The American threw himself at the latter and now they stood, wrapped in each other's arms, the door to the apartment still open.

Shaun was the first to pull away. Desmond bit his lip and looked down, not wanting to see the disappointment in his boyfriend's eyes.

"What were you thinking?" Now that the emergency had been avoided, more time-consuming questions could be asked.

Desmond sighed. "I don't _know_." He raised his eyes. "I don't want to be a daddy." Shaun blurred before him, and he thought he was going to pass out until he realized his vision was impaired by tears.

Shaun's eyes softened, and he cupped Desmond's face in a hand. "It's over," Shaun whispered soothingly.

* * *

><p><strong>...C:<strong>


	24. Funeral

**Tenno-Megumi****: Thanks ^^  
><span>Americana Psychotica<span>: Shaun cuddles... Pfft. -cuddles- Bah, I wish I was Desmond ;_;  
><span>wheatleyhastings<span>: Lolno, he just meant that the whole thing with Lucy was over xD Don't worry, I'm not giving up on you guys yet!  
><span>Miss u<span>: What're you going on about? I'm still here...  
><span>JacksterGamer<span>: Wow, I never thought that putting "it's over" at the end of a chapter would make so many people panic o3o  
><span>Anonymous<span>: Thanks!  
><span>Candycane<span>: Aw, thanks. Most - if not all - of the stories on FF about ShaunDes are rated M (if you know what I mean) so I wanted to make something different.  
><strong>

**And thanks so much to:  
>-<span>Halloween Night<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>grissrox<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>UnholyDreamer<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>Libertine Eyes<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>KayKatStudios<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites, and for adding myself to their alert and favourites  
>-and <span>Kattykatkat<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites, and for adding myself to their favourites  
><strong>

**LOL, you didn't think I'd finished, did you? I would most definitely have some sort of speech at the end to let you know! Don't worry, this story won't be ending for a good while yet.**

* * *

><p><strong><strong>_I try to make it through my life  
>In my way, there's you<br>I try to make it through these lies  
>And that's all I do<em>

_Please don't deny it  
>Don't try to fight this, and deal with it<br>It's just part of it_

_If you were dead or still alive, I don't care  
><em>-**Apocalyptica**'s I Don't Care

* * *

><p>As it turned out, Shaun couldn't be farther from right. The next day, Desmond received a phone call from Lucy's mother.<p>

"Desmond?" And it was just that one word. It conveyed her emotions, her tears, her loss. "This is... it's Lucy's mother." He couldn't tell, but she sounded like she was crying.

Desmond bit his lip. "Hello, Mrs Stillman," he said softly, even though his apartment was empty; Shaun had gone to get his car.

"I'm not sure what role you played in my daughter's life, but..." She breathed in deeply. "I'd like you to come to the funeral."

He blanched away from the thought. Why on Earth would he go to the funeral of the woman he'd hated and _killed_? But, being the gentleman he was, Desmond gulped and replied, "Okay."

She told him it was on Tuesday, another idea he shied away from, because that meant Shaun wouldn't be able to come.

Desmond hung up the phone, wondering where he had gone wrong.

* * *

><p>Desmond sat on his motorcycle outside the church, head bowed. He really did not want to go in there. Didn't want to face Lucy's parents. Face his guilt.<p>

He thought it was what he wanted! He was finally free from Lucy, from her malice. And at what cost? Sure, he could finally sleep again. But what little rest he got was plagued with nightmares. His brain kept going over that final second, the little details emblazoned in his mind. The way his arm went so willingly of its own accord behind her. The way her jacket felt on his fingers. The expression on her face he saw for _maybe _a split second before she was falling. He remembered it all.

Reluctantly, Desmond dismounted, smoothing out his jacket, and made his way inside.

The church really was a fantastic one - large, with ornate decoration - but Desmond didn't stop to look at the artwork. His eyes went right to the altar, about fifty feet away. There was a coffin there. It was open.

Oh god, did they really expect him to go and _look _at that? Desmond's eyes widened, and he quickly sat in the pew closest, bowing his head, pretending to pray while trying not to hyperventilate.

Slowly, he raised his head, feeling eyes on him. There were several people scattered about, talking quietly in small groups around the altar. Desmond frowned and looked to his left, where a larger group was congregated. Through the bodies he could see Lucy's parents. Mrs Stillman was looking right at him.

Desmond quickly dropped his gaze, staring at his lap again. God he hated this suit.

"Desmond?" His head shot up. Lucy's mother stood in the aisle, looking down at him with a strange expression on her face. She looked terribly sad, but that was to be expected. Her eyes, though. They were hollow, empty. Desmond was reminded of the way his eyes had looked when he found out how his mother really died.

He stood, offered his hand, not forgetting the circumstances under which they had last seen each other. "Mrs Stillman."

She ignored the hand. "Call me Juno."

Desmond blinked. Odd name, but who was he to judge? He dropped his hand. "Look, I know how you must be feeling—"

"Desmond, I _am _aware of what happened last time we were in the same room," she said, getting right to the point. "I hope you know that you broke my daughter's heart."

Desmond stared. _Lucy had a heart? _He'd always thought that she never really loved him. It didn't seem that way; she'd been positively overjoyed when her father yelled at him.

"Had we not done an examination of her..." She paused to dab at her eyes. Desmond rolled his while she wasn't looking.

"Her body." It sounded like a tremendous effort just to say it.

There was a pause, and Desmond wondered what they could've possibly found on her body. Maybe his fingerprints on the back of her jacket? No, then there'd be police. But maybe they were just lying in wait, patiently expecting him to confess.

He didn't dare encourage Juno to go on. Maybe if he didn't she'd forget about it.

Juno looked at him again with dull blue eyes that were rimmed with tears. He really couldn't help but notice that her eyebrows were brown; blonde was not her natural hair colour.

"Were you aware that she was pregnant?" Juno whispered, apparently needing to for fear her voice would crack.

Desmond froze. He'd forgotten about that. "What?" he asked softly, feigning shock and ignorance.

She nodded, then put a small hand on his arm. "This must be hard for you."

Desmond just stared at the coffin, blown away that Juno's _daughter _had just died and here she was, comforting Lucy's estranged ex-boyfriend.

"Come with me."

Blindly, Desmond followed Juno until they were at the altar.

"Look," Juno whispered, hand clutched on the edge of the coffin. "Look at her."

He stared, amazed at how well makeup could cover bruises. Lucy looked immaculately beautiful, such a waste. Her wavy hair was down, fanning out around her head, if only slightly. She wore the same dress she had when they'd gone to visit her parents. Desmond bit his lip, remembering how he'd checked out her ass in that dress. It felt wrong now.

Juno reached over the edge and stroked Lucy's hair. Desmond just watched, fingers gripping the coffin.

"She was so beautiful," Juno breathed. Then her fingers made their way down to her daughter's abdomen, where she placed her hand over the place where a fetus would grow. Desmond winced.

"Feel it," came the whisper. Desmond looked up, startled. Juno was staring into his eyes with such intensity it was as if she wanted him to know what she was feeling. _Touch my daughter. Touch my grandchild. Look what has been taken from me._

"I can't..." Desmond started to protest, but Juno shot out her left hand and grabbed his wrist, moving his fingers to rest next to hers.

It felt so strange. Through the fabric of the dress, Desmond could just make out the softball-sized bump in Lucy's stomach. But it was absolutely still. Nothing moved. It was so eerie that Desmond's fingers found their way back to his own chest, just so he could feel his heartbeat, the life inside of him.

Juno was looking at him now, fresh tears starting to develop. "Your child had fingerprints," she managed, "organs, facial features."

Desmond just stared. He _really _didn't want to think about the fact that this baby might not be his. For some odd reason he found himself wishing it was.

"And through genetic testing, the gender was found," Juno continued. "You would've had a baby girl in less than six months."

Suddenly it was all too much. Seeing Lucy lying there, _gone_, knowing all this about the child that would likely have been his...

Desmond took a step back, then another, and another, until he had turned and was running. Running down the aisle, out the church, through the graveyard, collapsing on his bike, using it for support.

As he stood there, gasping for breath, the wind blew gently on his flushes face, cooling it. He stopped breathing for a moment, raised his head.

_Desmond,_ something whispered. His head whipped around; no one was there. No one was _anywhere_.

He just shook his head, feeling the breeze still on his face, then pulled his helmet on, mounted his bike, and shot off, trying to concentrate on the driving, the thrill.

But he couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened. Had he just been imagining that? _Of course _he'd just been imagining that, what was he thinking?

_Desmond!_ Though the voice was still faint - _imagined, _he told himself firmly - it sounded urgent, panicked. Kind of like a scream.

Alarmed, Desmond looked up and around. As he was sailing through an intersection, there was a car coming straight at him from his left._He _had the green light, not this other driver. So why was there a car barrelling down on him, getting closer with every heartbeat?

And suddenly his thumb punched down on the accelerator, though he hadn't remembered telling his muscles to do that. His bike shot forward, out of the path of the incoming car. People were staring, horns were honking, someone was trying to flag him down to see if he was okay, but Desmond just kept going.

Tears blurred his vision. What the hell just happened? The only thing he knew was that he had nearly died.

And Lucy had saved him. Desmond shook his head. No, that wasn't possible.

Finally, he realized the buildings flying by and let go of the accelerator. His bike slowed until he was no longer going around cars but flowing with the traffic.

What had caused him to get out of the way? He'd just been staring at that car, practically waiting for it to break him. Then, out of nowhere, he hit the accelerator. _Had_it been Lucy? He didn't know.

But what he did know was that he should be glad to be alive.


	25. Dream

**Halloween Night: Oh sorry, I didn't mean to make it confusing D: But no, I'm very sure Juno doesn't know what he did. She would _probably_ be calling the cops instead of inviting him to the funeral. And Lucy's father's name is Richard. It's in chapter one.  
><span>Rache123<span>: It makes me so glad when I see people have read this all the way through because they loved it so much. Thank you!  
><span>Americana Psychotica<span>: And thank you so much for sticking by me for all these months darling!  
><span>JacksterGamer<span>: _Ever_? D: But... -sobs-  
><span>RavingSunshine<span>: I don't really think she was being manipulative, just... grieving. And yeah, about Shaun... He's kinda fading out, isn't he? ^^;  
><strong>**Erika Jane****: Oh my goodness. Thank you _so much_! I don't think I've _ever_ got a review that long! You make me feel all warm and fuzzy... It makes me so happy to know that readers actually like my story 8D  
><span>DarkCase18<span>: ...Get out. Seriously. I _almost_ wasn't going to reply to this, but I am just to tell you to get the _fuck_ away from my story and take your non-existent grammar with you.  
><strong>

**But thank you _so _much to:  
>-<span>Rache123<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Kestrel Faeran<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>cherryblossoms22<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>kaito kitsune<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>followedthewaves<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites, and for adding myself to their author alert and favourites  
>-and <span>Erika Jane<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites**

* * *

><p><em>Screaming on the inside<br>I am frail and withered  
>Cover up the wounds that I can't hide<br>_-**Breaking Benjamin**'s Into the Nothing

* * *

><p>Desmond pulled up in front of Speed, fingers shaking so hard he could barely get the keys out of their ignition. There were no cars parked out front besides Shaun's. Fantastic.<p>

The blue garage was open in the warm June air, a few bikes lined up so those driving past could see. Desmond made his way past them and into the shop, eyes narrowed as the bright sun turned into artificial lighting.

Shaun was sitting behind a desk, eyes on a magazine he was reading—The New Yorker. His favourite.

Without looking up, he droned, "Welcome to Speed Motorcycles—"

"Uh..." Desmond tried to choke out a "hi", a _something _but his throat was tight. Just this place reminded him of too much.

Shaun looked up under his glasses, then grinned. "Ditched the funeral? Really sorry I couldn't come with you mate, I—" He frowned, then stood, discarding his magazine on the desk. "Des, what's wrong?" His fingers went to the American's cheek, where they lightly felt his skin. "You're so pale... You look like you've seen a ghost."

Desmond's eyes widened, and he needed to put his hands on the desk to steady himself. Shaun reacted right away, grasping his boyfriend's shoulders, a look of concern etched on his face. "What in the hell _happened_?"

"I... don't know," Desmond panted, because his heart was racing like he'd just run all the way from the church. "I almost _died_, Shaun!"

Now it was Shaun's turn to widen his eyes. "Sit down," he demanded, pushing the other man down into a chair, then he scurried around the desk and sat in the other one.

Desmond stared at his lap. "I was going through an intersection. My light was green; I just couldn't figure out why the car coming toward me wasn't stopping.

"I didn't think. At all. It was like time totally stopped. I was just staring at that car coming full speed toward me.

"And then, all of a sudden... My thumb just went to the accelerator. By itself. I don't know what happened. But I definitely didn't save my own life." Desmond stopped and looked at his hand, resting on his thigh. It was shaking so hard he could feel it through his pants.

Shaun's hand was on his shoulder, a way to convey comfort. But Desmond barely felt it.

The sound of boots made him twitch; a biker - a _real _biker, leather and everything - was entering the store. Shaun's hand flew off the American's shoulder like a startled bird.

"Look," he was saying, "why don't you go home, get some rest? I'll be there in a few hours, and we can talk."

And then somehow Desmond was lying in his bed, but on the wrong side, on Shaun's side, no idea how he hadn't killed himself on the way home. His helmet was still on.

Desmond unbuckled it and practically threw it across the room. It hit the floor with a full _thud_. But who cared?

Just laying there made him want to move. So he sat up, curled his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them. His eyes began to close.

And suddenly he jerked awake after what felt like hours. His back had relaxed, causing him to fall back and hit the pillow. It woke him.

Desmond looked at his watch. There was nothing there. He rolled his eyes - he'd forgotten to put it on that morning - and instead checked his phone.

"Five _minutes_?" he moaned. Shaun wouldn't be home for _hours_.

Desmond decided he would sleep. However, getting off the bed was too much effort, so he just let his eyes close while he lay there in his suit and tie.

His eyes snapped open. He thought he'd heard something. But he was so _tired_. Who cared about stupid noises?

So he tried again. And again and again, all the while feeling the panic and frustration rising in his chest.

Eventually he gave up, familiar now with the fact that he wouldn't be sleeping.

Suddenly he realized he hadn't eaten all day. It was barely noon, but still.

Desmond - somewhat less reluctantly - sat up, eager to get out of the bed he had been so attracted to just a few minutes ago. He padded into the kitchen, not really caring.

Reaching the counter, he suddenly whipped around. There had _definitely _been a noise!

But there was nothing there. Of course there was nothing there. Nonetheless, Desmond turned his back on the living room warily, ears straining as he opened the pantry.

Out of the corner of his eye, something moved. His head shot to the left. Nothing. He sighed heavily and, pulling out a box of Shreddies, went to make himself some cereal.

The bowls were in the corner of the kitchen, between the stove and the sink, and as Desmond opened the glass cupboard, something in the reflection caught his eye. He refused to turn around. It felt like he was giving in to his insanity every time he jumped at nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly withdrew a bowl, closed the cupboard, and turned. The bowl and box of cereal left his hands immediately, instinctively dropped to the floor when he saw what was sitting at the breakfast bar.

He stared for a fraction of a second before the bowl shattered on the linoleum, making him jump even more.

"Still wearing your suit, I see," Lucy commented, inspecting her translucent nails.

Desmond's eyes just widened further as he stared at the figure in front of him. He could see a blurry living room through her. "But..." he stuttered. "But you're _dead_!"

She looked up at him, seeming bored with this whole thing. "Of course I'm dead, you idiot. You can see _through _me, for Christ's sake."

Her eyes bored into his, the expression on her face now totally serious. "I'm just some illusion your brain has come up with to cope. Maybe it thinks you'll listen to me." She stood, moved her way around the counter so she leaned against the dishwasher behind her, in between it and him. Then she stared him in the face with such intensity Desmond thought he could see her brain through her translucent skull.

And then he realized it. He _could _see through her skull, at least a little, but he could also make out the room behind it through her brain. His eyes wandered down. Lucy's skin and clothes were translucent as well; he could make out every single one of her digestive and respiratory organs. The heart didn't move, however, nor did the veins, even though the lungs inflated and deflated like they should.

"You need to sleep, Desmond." Lucy's mouth was see through as well - _why _was he just noticing this now? - and her jaw and tongue moved as she spoke. "You need sleep." Her fingers moved to his face. "Sleep..."

Desmond jerked awake just as the tips of Lucy's fingers went through his cheek. Immediately he slapped a hand to the area, finding nothing.

Moaning a little, Desmond sat up. He was in bed, and it was still light out.

Already the content of the dream was slipping away, even as he tried to grasp it, to remember _something_. All he could recall was a ghostly Lucy telling him he needed sleep, and his own voice: "But you're _dead_!"

* * *

><p><strong>I'm not quite sure if I'm content where this story is going... it's obviously not what I originally intended to happen. However, I personally <em>really<em> love the psychological aspect of it. I can't decide, though. And this is where you, as readers, come in! I could do one of two things:  
>a) Leave the storyline as is and change the summary<br>b) Force Desmond to get over Lucy's death and include more Shaun-ness and more normalness and shit.**

**Tell me what I should do in a review. I really _am _leaning toward option A, so if no one tells me what they want, it's what I'll do.**


	26. Dear Diary, Episode 4

**Americana Psychotica: -bows- I shall do what you say, Oh great and mighty one. I was leaning toward what you'd said anyway; a bit of both 8D Option B seemed to be a little to popular to my liking o3o Also, if you haven't learned, I _love_ disturbing.  
><span>Halloween Night<span>: Ah, that's what I thought too 8D Thanks!  
><span>Tenno-Megumi<span>: Sorry, I went with A. Personally I think there's too much fluff. I'm a huge fan of the psychological aspect of humans. But don't worry, Shaun's not going anywhere!  
><span>JacksterGamer<span>: Really? You didn't feel a little bad for her at all? ...Who am I kidding, neither did I :D  
><span>DreamerOfTheDay<span>: Eep indeed. Went with A, sorry... ^^  
><span>Hearts Content<span>: Lol too bad 8D Enough people said B that I picked it~  
><span>wheatleyhastings<span>: Eh, there's enough plain old AU ShaunDes stories. How many involve murder and the intense psychological effects that come with it? And I personally thought Shaun was more concerned than "What are you doing here?" but mmkay.  
><strong>

**As always, thanks SO MUCH to:  
>-<span>DreamerOfTheDay<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>Hearts Content<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>RoCelia<span>, for adding this story to their favourites**

**Lol, what's studying? I _totally_ don't have an exam tomorrow...**

**AS YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED I CHANGED THE SUMMARY. Isn't it exciting? 8D**

* * *

><p><em>Out of his mind, the way it pushes him<br>Whispering, "Must've been out of his mind."  
><em>-**The Used**'s The Bird and the Worm

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, June 16, 2013 7:18 PM<strong>

_Dear Diary,_

_Well, it's been well over a year since I last used this thing. In fact, the last time was before all of... _this _happened. I guess I should write it down in case I come back years later._

_About a year ago, I met Desmond. End of April, it was. And I learned he had this crazy ex-girlfriend. I thought nothing of it; most men think their exes are insane anyway._

_He was telling the truth. Lucy manipulated, tortured, and humiliated Desmond, even more so after I met him._

_Long story short: she died. I won't mention how or why - who knows what kind of people could get their hands on this - but Desmond just hasn't been the same since. After her funeral, he kept going on about how he almost died but was "saved" by nobody, and a ghost or something._

_It just got worse. About two months later, he just stopped eating. Always said he wasn't hungry, refused everything I ever tried to offer. And I've _tried_! He just keeps getting skinnier and skinnier and I don't know what to do!_

_It's not just that. He still hasn't got a job - don't think he's even tried - so he mostly sits around all day, or goes out randomly. I always ask him where, but he just shuts me out. And that's when I'm home; who _knows _what he does when I'm not there._

_He has his bad days and his good days. On a good day, he's normal again, acts like the old Desmond used to. Makes jokes, flirts with me a little, maybe even eats a while meal. He has a lot of these._

_But then there's the bad days. These are the days in which I cannot, no matter how hard I try, get him to communicate with me. He just sits there and thinks. At least I hope he's thinking; staring at a wall without moving is usually an indication of deep thought, right?_

_It's been more than a year. I don't understand. Lucy was just his ex. How could her death shatter him inside so much? I know that the circumstances under which she died were less than favourable for him, but _still_. He hasn't gotten any better; he's just getting worse._

_Lucy was pregnant when she died. I don't know, that might've been it, but Desmond was desperately set on the idea that that child wasn't his._

_I don't know _what_ to think. I just want the old Desmond back._

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, June 16, 2013 4:36 AM<strong>

_I want out._

* * *

><p><strong>The second entry is <em>not <em>Shaun! It's Desmond. And notice the time...? -flies away-**


	27. Revelation

**DreamerOfTheDay****: Yeah, I really felt it'd be better if it went this way. Thanks though :)  
><strong>**Americana Psychotica****: Why _thank you_ darling! 8D And the year thing happened because I made it happen o3o Oh, and don't worry about Dessy. If he died, I wouldn't have much of a story, now would I?  
><span>wheatleyhastings<span>: Oh, well hopefully you will! Personally, I love it 8D  
><span>JacksterGamer<span>: He didn't write that because he wanted out of the relationship o.o I really hope that's not what it looked like... No, he wrote that because he wanted out of _life _in general, you know?  
><span>Caroline Muller<span>: Thank you! It's great to know that my readers enjoy the direction my story's headed 8D (even if I may not know the way myself...)**

**As always, big thanks to:  
>-<span>Cheloemo<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites, and for adding myself to their author alert  
>-and <span>Caroline Muller<span>, for adding myself to their author alert**

* * *

><p><em>I'm not the same girl<br>__Not the same girl_**  
><strong>_Could never be the same girl  
>In that bright blue world<em>

_And if you had to choose again, would you keep me then?  
>I bet you wouldn't<br>_-**Zack Hemsey**'s Why

* * *

><p>Desmond stared out his apartment window. The view across the street was of a building. There was no doubt another building behind it, another behind that one, and so on. Did this city go on forever?<p>

He sighed and sat up straighter on the bed, tearing his eyes away from the window, instead leaning back and surveying the bedroom.

Many of his clothes were on the floor. _Did I do that? _He couldn't remember. He would just have to pick them up later, before Shaun got home.

Shaun. In a world full of unbearable frustration, Shaun was the only thing holding Desmond together.

"Still thinking about him, huh?" That was Lucy's voice. Desmond turned his head slightly. She sat at the end of the bed, facing the same direction he was. He noticed she'd brought her baby today. Normally she didn't - it was too much of a dead weight - but there it was, not moving in her arms, resembling more a fish with legs than a baby. Six months too little in the womb had done this to her; she was two thirds the length of her mother's forearm, curled yet limp at the same time, just starting to develop facial features.

Desmond tore his eyes away. "Why are you still here? You've been dead for far too long now; just leave me alone." It was worse now than when she was alive: now she could speak to him whenever she wanted, and he couldn't tell her to go away in public or risk looking insane.

She just stared down at the still creature in the crook of her elbow. "Look at you," she said, and Desmond thought she was talking to her daughter until her eyes moved to him. "There's nothing left."

Desmond averted his eyes. Both Shaun and Lucy reminded him plenty of times about his weight, and he was starting to get tired of hearing it.

"How old am I? Twelve?" he wondered aloud, turning back to Lucy. "I don't need your help. Leave me alone."

Her gaze softened. She blinked once, then shimmered and was gone.

Desmond stared at his hands, turning them over, looking at the backs, the palms, his fingers. Bones stuck out everywhere, and there was barely any skin on his fingers. He imagined the rest was the same throughout his body. He curled his hands into fists, then rose and made his way to the bathroom.

The scale sat next to the shower, almost like it was staring at him tauntingly. The scale was his enemy, but not because he was afraid of the weight he was _gaining_, like the rest of the country. It was because of the weight he didn't have.

Steeling himself, Desmond stepped on the scale quickly before he could change his mind. He stared. 128. That couldn't be right. Last he checked, he was at _least _140.

Desmond practically leapt off the scale. He could feel himself shaking. Whether it was caused by shock, fatigue, or hunger, he couldn't tell.

Hunger. Suddenly, Desmond thrust off his shirt and stood in front of the mirror. _Hey look... I have an extra rib. _And it was true; he could count every single one down the middle of his chest, and there was definitely twenty-five. It looked too crowded.

And his shoulders stuck out. Same with his elbows. Hips. Collarbones. Desmond quickly pulled his shirt back on. It was way too big and hung off him, making him look even smaller. His jeans were the same; he could pull the waist and there was at least six inches between his thumb and his stomach. So he just wore belts. It worked fine.

Temporary solutions weren't making him feel any better about his weight, though. Desmond leaned in close to the mirror and ran two fingers down his face, inspecting the cheekbones and eye sockets that stuck out profusely. He didn't even look like the same person.

"You need to stop obsessing over it."

Desmond jumped. There was no reflection in the mirror. But when he turned, there was Lucy. Oh fantastic, he could see her organs again.

"I really wish you'd stop doing that," he muttered.

"What? Sneaking up on you? Pestering you? Or this?" She gestured to herself.

"All of it!" Desmond exclaimed. He tried to push past her and get to the door, but she slammed him against it, preventing him from leaving. She was close, so close that he could practically see neurons firing in her brain. It both fascinated and disgusted him.

"Can't you just leave me alone? Go live peacefully in the afterlife or something!"

"But I can't."

"What, because I killed you?" he demanded. "Get the fuck over it! It's been a _year_—!"

"Because I'm _you_," Lucy interrupted quietly, fire in her eyes. "Did you really think ghosts were real? That Lucy would haunt you forever, seeking revenge? No, she's gone."

Her voice rose, and as it did, patches of skin started to become translucent, until she was shouting and he could no longer see through her. "_You_ created me. Because _you_ couldn't get over Lucy's death. _You_ couldn't put your guilt behind you and focus on what's happening _now_, Desmond! Who loves you _now_!"

"What're you—?"

"Don't pull that shit!" Lucy looked absolutely furious now. She jabbed him in the chest. "Check your phone, asshole."

Desmond stared, then did as she said. He had several text messages from Shaun:

_Hey, how are things going? I really hope you're not just sitting in the apartment. You know I don't like it when you have too much time to think. —S_

_Are you okay? —S_

_How come you're not answering me? I'm starting to get worried. —S_

_Desmond? —S_

"He cares about you. So much. And you never show him anything. You're too wrapped up in yourself."

"I am _not_." As he spoke, Desmond raised his head. Lucy was gone. He spoke the last word to his reflection.

"I am..." he whispered.

* * *

><p><strong>I quite enjoyed writing Lucy's rant 8D Just thought I'd inform you of this fact.<strong>

**And yeah, that's why Lucy's all OOC (well OOC for _my_ Lucy anyway). It's because it's not really her.**


	28. Love :WARNING: GRAPHIC:

**Americana Psychotica: Have I ever told you how much I love reading your reviews? 8D They make me warm and fuzzzzy~ Never change!  
><span>DreamerOfTheDay<span>: Yeah he is, isn't he? :)  
><span>StarStorm199<span>: Wow, thanks! I'm glad you picked mine out of the thousand of AC stories out there. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**And thank you to:  
><strong>**-Americana Psychotica, for adding myself to their author alert  
><strong>**-and StarStorm199, for adding this story to their favourite and alert**

**Sooo guys... It's been a YEAR! A year since I was like "hmm, I'll wonder if anyone likes this". And you guys DID! Thank you _so much_ to everyone who reviewed, favourited, READ this story. I made this chapter extra special for you.**

**Disclaimer: Okay, so it's _technically_ the fourteenth, but I'm only less than an hour off... Close enough, eh?**

**WARNING: SEX SCENE. It's a lot more graphic than the previous one, so if you're easily offended, please don't say I didn't warn you.**

* * *

><p><em>I remember brown eyes, so sad<br>And blue skies turned to darkness and night  
>I'm so sick of the fight<em>

_I won't breathe unless you breathe  
>Won't bleed unless you bleed<br>Won't be unless you be  
>Until I'm gone and I can sleep<br>_-**Hollywood Undead**'s Circles

* * *

><p>Desmond spent a long time staring at his reflection. And as he stared, he thought about what Lucy had said.<p>

_"He cares about you. So much. And you never show him anything. You're too wrapped up in yourself."_

The words echoed in his head, tearing him apart from the inside out. He _knew_ Shaun cared about him. He also knew how much of as ass he, Desmond, had been in the past... hell, the past _year_. Truth be told, he had no idea how Shaun was still with him.

_I'm going to fix this... I'm going to fix this and I'm going to tell Shaun how much I love him._ And it was _true_; though he didn't show it, Shaun was definitely the most important person in Desmond's life. And really, who else did he have? There was Rebecca and Mel, but they had their own lives, and Desmond had no place in it. His parents were dead, he was an only child, and any other relatives he might've had had never come forward following his orphaning. And although his foster parents loved him, they were getting old, and they, too, had their own lives to live, and he knew they wanted to spend their last few years together.

Shaun was all he had.

Desmond exited the bathroom and sat down heavily - as "heavily" as a 128-pound man could - on a couch. His thumbs danced over keys as he stared at Shaun's text, but no words could come. It just wouldn't work over a text.

Inhaling deeply, Desmond entered the necessary command to call Shaun's number. Before putting the phone to his ear, he checked the time; it was 12:15; Shaun would be on lunch. Perfect.

"Hello?" And suddenly, Desmond's throat closed up. That voice, so innocent, belonged to the person he loved the most in this world. The sudden thought of losing him nearly made Desmond's mind go into a panic.

"...Hello?" Shaun started to sound pissed. "Look, twat, if you're going to call me, at least _say_—"

"Iloveyou," Desmond breathed, so fast he wasn't sure Shaun heard him.

"What? Who is this?" Of _course_, Shaun didn't have called ID. He'd forgotten.

"It's me," Desmond said, just as quietly.

"Oh. Hello then." He didn't sound very interested. "Are you okay? What have you been doing all day?"

_Are you my mother?_Desmond clamped his jaws shut and remembered why he had called in the first place. "I love you. So much."

"I know..." It sounded like a question. _What the hell are you talking about._

"No, it's..." He made a noise of frustration. What was he trying to say? "It's more than that. You're what keeps me going, no matter what happens. _Anything_ could happen. The world could be falling to shit and as long as I have you I'd be okay with it._You_ are my reason. I know I've been an ass for so long that you may have forgotten what it was like to love me. We've barely spoken for so long and it's _hurting_ me. I really have no right to say that since it's me that's doing the hurting..." _Stop rambling, you idiot._

"All I'm trying to say is that I love you. And if you don't love me anymore, that's fine. Hell, I _deserve_ it. I've treated you like shit for so long and even _I_ don't know why. Because you don't deserve to be treated like that. You are amazing and the best thing I could ever want in my shitty life. So, _please_, don't hate me for the things I've done. I need you." The last part was a whisper.

Silence. _Oh God he's hung up._ Panic enveloped Desmond's brain._He hates me. He hates me and I deserve it, I fucking _deserve_it..._

"I love you too."

"You... Wait, what?" Desmond had been so expecting fury, or rejection, that he'd already prepared a plea.

"You idiot, I love you. Of course I do. You may look different but you're still the same Desmond I fell in love with."

"Oh..." he breathed. So many words rose from his heart that they became tangled in his throat and he couldn't speak. "...Thank you," he somehow managed.

"Oh, Desmond." There was a sigh from the other end of the line. "You don't know how much you've changed my life. If anything, _I_should be thanking _you_."

Desmond didn't know what to say. He was so touched by Shaun's words that his heart practically jumped out of his chest. Instead he just said, "I have a surprise for you when you get home."

"Oh, good." He really did sound genuinely happy. Not a hint of sarcasm. "I can't wait." Desmond could hear the smile in his voice.

* * *

><p>The "surprise" turned out to be dinner, cooked by Desmond over three hours. He went out and bought ground meat, vegetables, potatoes, and spices. It took him half an hour to peel and mash the potatoes while the meat cooked, and spices were added to both. He tossed the vegetables - carrots and peas - in some hot water and let them boil. When everything was done, he took a glass casserole dish, about as big as a football, and added the meat, then the vegetables, then the mashed potatoes. On top of the potatoes he sprinkled a little spice. From the top, the whole thing just looked like a bunch of mashed potatoes, but looking through the glass side revealed it for what it really was: shepherd's pie. Then he put it in the oven to keep it warm and waited for Shaun. Though he had no idea if his boyfriend actually <em>liked<em>shepherd's pie - he'd never seen him eating it before - he hoped the thought of a hot meal as soon as the Brit stepped in the door was enough.

Keys turned in the lock and Desmond's head shot up from setting the table. He uncorked the bottle of red wine he'd bought and hurriedly poured two glasses before setting the bottle in the middle of the table. Though Shaun didn't drink - and hadn't since the night at Dusk - Desmond figured a little wine was fine.

As the door opened, Desmond stepped around in and pulled the unsuspecting Shaun into a kiss before the other man could even say a word.

When they broke apart, Shaun grinned. "Hello to you too.

"Oh, what is that smell?" He wandered to the table, where the dish of pie sat next to the wine. "Food, wine...?" Shaun turned around. "Trying to woo me with displays of cooking, eh?"

Desmond shrugged, smiled. "I felt like I owed it to you."

They ate. While they ate, they talked. More than they had in a_long_time.

And then Desmond leaned closer, or maybe it was Shaun; Desmond didn't know nor care, because they ended up in the darkened bedroom, tongues exploring every inch of the other's mouth.

Desmond was on his back and Shaun was on top of him. Hands were all over his body; it was as if Shaun had grown another few.

Shaun broke away, panting, a glow in his eye. "I love you so much." Desmond didn't respond, only tugged at the other man's jumper needingly. With some help, he managed it off, but there was still that collared shirt. Why did it have so many buttons? He tried it, but his fingers shook too much.

Eventually they were both undressed, various articles of clothing scattered around the room. Shaun bent low, hand on Desmond's shaft, and muttered, "Are you ready for this?"

"Ye-Yes!" Desmond gasped, barely able to form a sentence. It wasn't fair; Shaun should stop touching him before asking a question.

Shaun took his hand off Desmond, but not for long. Soon his finger was entering the other man's rectum. Desmond cried out and thrust his hips away, but Shaun soothed him and soon the American was relaxing into his touch. Until the second finger entered. It stung, but Desmond wanted this so bad that he gritted his teeth and tried to focus on Shaun's face instead.

"Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?" The fingers withdrew, but Desmond had gotten used to them and realized that it felt good.

"No, no!" he gasped. "Just - getting used to it."

"Oh, fuck," Shaun muttered. "No lube."

Desmond's eyes darted around the room in a panic - he wanted this _now_- until his eyes landed on the hand lotion Shaun kept on his nightstand. He grabbed it. "How's this?"

"What?" Shaun looked astounded. "I use that on my _hands_!"

"And it's about to go on mine," Desmond grinned, and pumped a generous amount into his palm. Shaun began to protest, but then Desmond tossed the bottle aside and put his hands on him. The lotion smoothed out the skin quite nicely, but Desmond could feel the blood inside getting thicker and thicker. He grinned, enjoying the sight of Shaun squirming.

"Stop..." Shaun gasped, then practically ripped himself away. "I don't want to come all over your chest, you twat."

And there was the sarcasm. Desmond smiled, looked up at Shaun, and kissed him. "Go ahead."

Shaun tipped his head, then leaned back and grabbed Desmond's bony calfs, propping his partner's ankles on his, Shaun's, shoulders. Desmond leaned his head back as the tip of Shaun's cock entered him. Pain seared through his body, but he didn't protest. It would be worth it.

More pressure built up until it felt like he was going to burst from the inside out. But oh man, did it feel _amazing_.

"Oh my God," Desmond moaned, and thrust his hips, needing friction. Shaun followed suit, until they were grinding against each other. Desmond felt all the blood in his body drain toward his lower torso and thrust harder, enjoying this too much for it to be over. Shaun was grunting faster and faster. His grunts matched his thrusts until Desmond couldn't take it anymore.

He moaned loudly and white liquid spurted all over Shaun's chest and neck. Shaun himself wasn't far behind, and Desmond felt the fluid between his legs and found himself hoping it was just sperm, not blood.

Shaun pulled out and Desmond winced as his sphincter returned to its normal size. It felt like it was folding in on itself.

Shaun didn't even bother to wipe himself off before leaning in for a kiss. He grinned.

"See? Told you I loved you."

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry I'm such a fail at writing yoai. But since this story <em>is<em> rated T, I tried to keep the descriptive words to a minimum...**


	29. Calm

**DreamerOfTheDay****: There was a whole sex scene and all you got from it was Shepard's pie? Nah, kidding. Good to know you like it :D  
><strong>**Americana Psychotica****: You know what I thought when I finished that chapter? I thought,_ How am I going to make her pass out this time? _And apparently it worked. Seriously, I love you. Yes, in the stalker-ish way.  
><span>Caroline Muller<span>: Well, it's called _Beautiful_ isn't it? It had to happen eventually o3o  
><span>akatsukigirl13974<span>: Ooh, a new reader! I love preying on new readers... Kidding c: But I'm glad you picked my story to read out of so many!  
><span>JacksterGamer<span>: You're welcome!  
><span>Bad l'Cie<span>: Oh my gosh, thank you so much! This is far from a piece of art, but you saying that made me feel fuzzy. I hope you enjoy this chapter and others to come.  
><strong>

**As always, extra thank yous to:  
>-<span>DreamerOfTheDay<span>, for adding myself to their author alert  
>-<span>ABrandNewShawty<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
>-<span>MayaDarkling<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites, and for adding myself to their alert and favourite authors  
>-<span>The Boy Vamp<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>fallendestinyxx<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-and <span>Bad l'Cie<span>, for adding this story to their favourites**

**Oh wow it's been two months. I'm sorry guys, I just had absolutely no motivation to write anything at all and I've just been derping around playing games. Also, you know, started grade 11 and that's hell on wheels so far.**

**Just a warning: this chapter is short and a filler. Bad l'Cie's lovely review actually got me off my ass to finish this, but I am in no way proud of it. I'm in another of those phases where my writing feels kind of mediocre. **

**Ah well, don't pay attention to me and just enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em>Shadows all around you as you surface from the dark<br>Emerging from the gentle grip of night's unfolding arms  
>Darkness, darkness everywhere; do you feel alone?<br>_-**Hush Sound**'s You Are the Moon

* * *

><p>Shaun and Desmond lay side-by-side, still breathing deeply. Desmond felt wet between his legs, but didn't want to say anything.<p>

"I thought I was going to break you," Shaun said quietly.

Desmond turned his head, glad for distraction from the pain. "Hmm?"

"There's nothing left of you." Shaun still stared at the ceiling. "I didn't want to push too hard because... I thought I'd break you."

Desmond bit his lip. The pain in his rear was definitely getting worse. "You may not be out of the woods yet," he breathed inaudibly, not wanting to worry Shaun further but he needed to say _something_. He could practically feel the blood leaking onto their duvet.

"What?" Shaun turned over, eyes flashing. "What's wrong?"

The American winced; he'd spoke too loud. "I think I'm bleeding," he muttered, the words leaving his mouth unwillingly.

A lamp was snapped on immediately and Shaun's glasses found his face before Desmond's eyes even adjusted to the light. "Let me see," Shaun ordered, definite concern in his voice.

Desmond rolled onto his side, away from Shaun, feeling the blood on his skin.

There were no words at first. Shaun's fingers were all over Desmond's barely-there cheeks, trying to wipe away the blood and semen to see the problem.

"The friction... I think," Shaun said after a while. "Lotion isn't good enough, apparently. Why didn't you tell me to stop when it hurt?"

Desmond shrugged, then remembered that Shaun couldn't see it. "I dunno." But honestly, it hadn't hurt at all until afterwards. "Can we go to the bathroom now?"

"Let me help you."

But Desmond moved away and stood on his own, quickly. Too quickly. He gasped as pain radiated from his tailbone all the way up to his brain. Still, he stumbled to the master bathroom, if you could call it that, before Shaun was able to rush around his side of the bed.

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, holding Desmond's arm for support.

Desmond managed a wry chuckle as he half-leaned on the doorframe. "Okay? That was the best thing that's ever happened to me."

The worry lines softened, and Shaun's eyes shone with relief.

"Help me into the shower, will you?" Desmond asked through gritted teeth, feeling blood running down his legs.

Shaun's arm went around the American's waist, and Desmond was suddenly aware that they were both still completely naked. Normally he would've felt extremely awkward and uncomfortable, but he found that the desire to cover up just wasn't there. He felt totally at ease around Shaun, clothed or not.

Every step was more excruciating than the last as Desmond's cheeks moved together against the wound. Shaun helped him step into the tub and turned the warm water on before climbing in behind him.

"What're you doing?" Desmond murmured. Shaun was slowly caressing around Desmond's hip bones and lower back. It felt spectacular.

"Relax," Shaun breathed into Desmond's ear.

Water ran over Desmond's body, but it really needed to be behind him. With great difficulty, he tore himself away from Shaun's nimble fingers and turned around so they were facing each other. Desmond looked down. The water was a pale yellow-brown colour as the blood washed away, then it was clear. It felt like heaven as it soothed the wound.

Shaun's glasses were fogging up as the water turned to steam; he tried wiping them off but it would take about half a second for them to become opaque again. Watching him wipe his glasses over and over again made Desmond laugh quietly.

It was at this time that Desmond got his first good look at Shaun's body. He'd been going to the gym every day for three months, apparently in preparation for this day, and it showed. Desmond hasn't noticed all too well when the historian wore those sweater vests - they weren't exactly figure-flattering - but he sure noticed now. While there still was traces of fat around his midsection, Shaun's abdominal muscles were starting to show, and his pectorals were firm and prominent. Desmond loved every inch of him.

Eventually, Shaun just took them off and put them outside the shower curtain. To do this, he had to bend down. Desmond's face burned and he took a small step backwards when he realized how close Shaun's face was to his bare groin.

"I really do love you, you know," Shaun said quietly once he was straightened up.

Desmond quickly forgot about his embarrassment and pulled Shaun close to him. Their bare chests were touching. "I know," he whispered, then he kissed Shaun like he'd never kissed any woman before.

At that moment, Desmond couldn't care less about his injury, or about how painfully thin he was next to Shaun. All he felt was bliss.

* * *

><p><strong>Derp. I'm going to bed.<strong>


	30. Frustration

**MayaDarkling****: Ah yes, you _are_ special, dear 8D But really, thank you _so much_ for your lovely review. It made me blush and feel all fuzzy inside ;w; I hope I continue to please.  
><span>Americana Psychotica<span>: He can never stay happy. -insert evil laugh here- Thanks ^^  
><span>DreamerOfTheDay<span>: Thank you! I hope he's okay, too... Although I have this feeling it won't really last. Nothing ever does.  
><span>Bad l'Cie<span>: Wah I feel like everyone likes those types of chapters BUT I JUST CAN'T KEEP IT HAPPY.  
><span>JacksterGamer<span>: Well, maybe not _forever_, but yeah, I plan on continuing for a while.  
><span>TheSaraBear<span>: Really? This is probably the most common hetero pairing in the entire fandom LOL  
><span>Colombo-Bianca<span>: Of course there's more! Not _much_ more, but more nonetheless! Hopefully my 400-word chapter is enough to satisfy...  
><strong>

**As always, thanks so much to:  
>-<span>Lachubix<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>BloodyStar-Nightshayde<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-<span>Nekiare<span>, for adding this story to their favourites  
>-<span>TheSaraBear<span>, for adding this story to their alert  
>-and <span>dropsofjupiterxo<span>, for adding this story to their alert and favourites**

**OH MY GOD I'M SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG AND COMING UP WITH THIS CRAP.**

**I love you guys to bits and I feel really really bad for taking forever to write 400-ish words and please don't hate me D:**

**I could tell you that I've been busy playing _Assassin's Creed III_ (no spoilers plz, haven't finished yet), but I really haven't. I've just been putting this off and putting it off and I finally finished. Don't hate me because it's so short with a lack of anything. I still love you guys :c**

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><p><strong><strong>_Your eyes, they shine so bright  
>I want to save their light<br>I can't escape this now, unless you show me how_

_When you feel my heat, look into my eyes  
>It's where my demons hide<br>Don't get too close; it's dark inside  
>It's where my demons hide<br>_-**Imagine Dragons**' Demons

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><p>Of course, Desmond's brain hated him. It couldn't just let him be happy. It <em>had <em>to remind him of the last person he had kissed, more than a year ago. Lucy. That led to the horrible reminder: he was a murderer. He had ended a life. Two.

Desmond's lips slowed and he pulled away. "I... I just want to go to bed," he muttered, not looking Shaun in the eye. His mind kept replaying the _crack _of Lucy's head as it hit the floor. He saw her lifeless eyes as if they were in front of him. He heard his daughter's heart stop.

Shaun stared at him for a few seconds, then shrugged. "Sure. Whatever," he mumbled, quickly stepping out of the shower, snatching his glasses on the way by. He was towelled and out before Desmond could muster the will to get out of the shower. His body radiated with pain, but he gritted his teeth, on some self-righteous quest not to show pain.

The bedroom lamp was already off by the time Desmond limped out of the bathroom. Shaun was on his side of the bed, back resolutely turned to Desmond.

_Oh, come on,_ Desmond thought frustratedly. _I'm in pain and you're acting like a child._

It occurred to him that he should apologize, but there was no reason for him to be saying sorry. _He _had done nothing. It was Shaun who was being a royal dickhead.

Instead he huffed, shut off the bathroom light, and crawled into bed, too tired and too pained to care about insignificant things like sympathy.

Shaun didn't turn around.

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><p>A noise. Desmond's brain dragged itself into consciousness, and he listened intently without opening his eyes.<p>

There was a whisper: "Bollocks." It was just Shaun, getting dressed to go to work. He must have dropped his shirt or something.

Remembering last night's events, it occurred to Desmond yet again that he should say _something_. His mother always used to tell him that you should never go to bed angry at someone you care about. Well, he'd already done that, hadn't he?

Besides, half-asleep was not the best mood to be apologizing in. So Desmond let the Brit carry on dressing quietly, then slipped back into sleep.

After all, Shaun would always be there.

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><p><strong>I'm so sorry Desmond ;-;<strong>


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